


Resignation

by sapphyr_raven



Series: Rebellion, Resignation, Revelation and Resolution [2]
Category: Glee
Genre: Age Difference, Angst with a Happy Ending, Blangst, Depression, Eventual Fluff, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Sexual Content, Suicidal Thoughts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-05
Updated: 2014-02-03
Packaged: 2018-01-03 14:40:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 35,430
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1071648
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sapphyr_raven/pseuds/sapphyr_raven
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Continuing from 'Rebellion' - February approaches and with it Mr. Schuester's wedding, then Regionals, a HUGE question, a miscommunication, numerous misunderstandings, and a whole series of events which escalate - sending things quickly spiraling out of control for Blaine, Kurt and Douglas. </p><p>I've upped the age rating from Teen+Up to Mature for now as things are going to start getting a little heated.  I'll try to remember to warn at the start of the relevant chapters! </p><p>Series Description:<br/>AU from season 4 - 'Glease'. Blaine and Kurt never made-up - Kurt, hurt by Blaine's transgression, cut himself off from his old life and refused any and all further contact leaving Blaine lost and broken in Lima. This is the tale of how rebellion, resignation, and revelations eventually led to their resolution. Or - how Kurt saved Blaine from himself.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Lupercalia

## Resignation

_The mass of men lead lives of quiet desperation. What is called resignation is confirmed desperation._

-          _Henry David Thoreau_

### Lupercalia

                The phone call changed everything – such a tiny event rippled, and against his better judgement, Douglas had found himself answering every time Blaine called him.  The calls became a part of his routine – at first they were sporadic; Blaine would call to talk specifically about a certain event – perhaps his frustrations with his parents, or to garner an opinion on a song choice or an experimental new arrangement for the Warblers – but the frequency of the calls gradually increased until they were a daily occurrence.  He found himself actively looking forward to their chats – they were a highlight of his day as helping Blaine felt a lot like helping himself.  Especially as the Chinese venture, codenamed ‘Project Narcissus’ by Blaine –

                ‘I suppose that makes you Echo?’

\- ramped up.  The stress of trying to project manage from New York had been beginning to get to him and Douglas knew that inevitably he would need to head to China to finalise plans with the construction company that had been contracted in.  The present version of the blue-prints closely represented Douglas’ original design – a minor miracle as, by now, he was very used to civil engineers’ attitude to design when confronted with the reality of budgets and timescales. 

The first call had come in the wee-hours of the morning – Douglas had been in the space between dreaming and reality where the world is vague and surreal, plagued by loneliness and tormented by stress.  Whilst fear and doubt gnawed at his core, his mind had wafted between dark, self-loathing thoughts of past failures and his deep-set fears for the project’s seemingly inevitable failure (which would at once confirm to his father both his worthlessness as an architect and his inability to do anything right), and escapist fancies.   He would leave it all behind – running away from everything and starting over, perhaps in Italy.  His life there would be simple, the food excellent, and he would spend his remaining years carefree sitting, as he had seen folk do in photographs, on a rocking chair on his porch.  Perhaps playing cards with a crinkled old man with a tanned leather hide.  Perhaps whiling away the hours in the company of a beautiful youth with dark curly hair, smooth golden skin, and eyes the colour of sun-kissed sand… 

He had not meant to answer the phone with the lad’s name – the results could have been disastrous – what if the caller had been a client, or worse: Roger or Doug? 

                ‘Blaine?’

Spoken like a prayer – the slightly shocked and awed whisper of an atheist visited by an angel.  But that was how Blaine made him feel.  That was the point really – Blaine made him feel.  He was escapism – youth and potential and everything Douglas was too old to be…  Perhaps Blaine was a revenant soul sent to torment him by representing everything Douglas desired and longed for - appearing whenever he felt weakest? 

                _No.  That face is nothing less than angelic._

That first conversation had been stilted – Blaine had needed to vent and all the lad’s frustrations and fears had poured from him like a torrent from a burst dam, but Douglas had remained standing.  He had been a rock for Blaine – it was what he had needed and Blaine had opened up in response.  The more he talked to Blaine, really _talked_ to him, the more he realised how much he enjoyed the way his mind worked; the lad was sweet and caring, painfully conscientious and utterly guilt-ridden. 

It is not until the night the phone call does not come that Douglas really realises how much he _needs_ their daily communiqué.  Blaine is his crutch as much as he is Blaine’s rock – Douglas feels a little less overwhelmed, a little less lonely, and a little more centred after their discussions.  He finds his body reacting physically to the withdrawal of its fix like Pavlov’s dog – he paces and grows agitated.  _What if something happened?_  His mind tortures him with every possible reason Blaine may be unable, or worse, unwilling to call him.  He finds he is simultaneously angry and worried and he struggles to pull himself together when he realises how ridiculous his reaction is – it is not like they ever actually made a formal commitment to these daily telephone conversations.

When the phone finally rings and he hears Blaine’s flustered apology, Douglas realises with a startling clarity that his heart is hammering like a teenagers’.

 

-+-

 

                He finds out about the wedding from Sam – they had bumped into each other (for once Blaine was sans Warblers and Sam minus the New Directions), and for a heartbeat Blaine had feared that the blonde would ignore him.  So, the bone shattering hug that would have put the Incredible Hulk to shame that he received instead rendered him temporarily speechless.  Cyclops and Wolverine had grabbed coffee together and taken the opportunity to compare notes from the battlefield together – Blaine had initially attempted to steer clear of show choir talk, but Sam, ever the King of Subtlety, had broken the ice immediately by congratulating him on a well-deserved Warbler captain status.  He had followed by expressing his regret that things had gone badly in New York with Kurt, however, so Blaine remained unable to speak for a while longer.  Sam had always been a whirlwind – Blaine found it oddly refreshing.

They had fallen into a relatively easy conversation about how everyone was doing – Marley’s eating disorder, Sue’s latest attempt to destroy the (together for “fun” now because “we’re family, you know?”) New Directions and Finn’s leadership, Tina’s surprisingly successful Sadie Hawkins dance, and Mr Schue and Ms Pillsburry’s upcoming nuptials.

It stung a little – not being invited, but it had not exactly surprised him.  After all, he did leave the New Directions to re-join the Warblers...but he _had_ helped Mr Schuester propose.  Surely that warranted an invite?  _All_ the old New Directions members had been invited after all. 

                _So, Kurt will be there….perhaps it is best I’m not around then?_

Blaine’s thoughts wandered a little as Sam segued (with logic Blaine would have struggled to follow even if he had been paying attention) into the latest news about the wave of hate mail aimed at Sam from Lord Tubbington, and the allegedly “completely separate” tale of Santana’s avid hatred of him due to his relationship with her ex – Brittany.  Blaine allowed Sam’s passion and easy nature to draw him in and temporarily let himself be lost in the surreal gossip.  Apparently Santana had suffered a crisis whilst at college and had returned to McKinley, briefly considered becoming the new Sue, then ended up heading to New York to live with Kurt and Rachel after a talk with Brittany.  Blaine’s head spun a little from trying to keep up with Sam – he was really feeling out of practice – and he was caught off guard when Sam mentioned a couple of things that caught his attention and stuck fast:

  1. Rachel was apparently living with that Brody guy she had performed with at Callbacks, however,
  2. She was not bringing him to the wedding as her date.
  3. The wedding was on Valentine’s Day.
  4. Kurt was seeing a college guy and was taking him to the wedding
  5. As his date.



He had felt the blood drain from his face so he had not really been surprised when even Sam noticed his pallor.  Blaine feigned illness and made to leave, but before he could Sam had grabbed his hand:

                ‘Dude, I heard what happened at that club.’

                ‘I’m sorry?’  The change of subject confused him sufficiently to keep him seated - conversing with Sam today was giving Blaine whiplash.

                ‘With Sebastian.  I, um, that was brave, man.  Especially after, you know, the slushie incident and everything.  I mean…  It was really cool of you to step in and stop that guy from hurting Sebastian.’

                ‘Uh…thanks?’

                ‘So…are you two like…going out now?’

Blaine really had no excuse for what he said next. 

                ‘No!  God, no!  I have a boyfriend.’

                ‘That’s so great!  I’m glad.  You’re a really great person, Blaine.  You deserve some happiness.’

                ‘I am happy.  Thanks, Sam.  You too – I mean, with Brittany.’

                ‘Thanks.’

Sam’s smile had been 100 watts and Blaine had forced himself to return it as Sam released his hand.

                ‘So…what’s he like?’

                ‘Uh…Older.’

                ‘What is he, like, 25?’

                ‘…yeah.’  He had laughed nervously and tried to change the topic.  ‘Um…he lives in New York.’

                ‘That’s cool.  Does he go to college there?’

                ‘No.  Um… he’s got a job working for his father’s business.’

                ‘Awesome.  I bet that’s hard though, right.’

                ‘Working for his father?’

                ‘Trying the long distance thing again.  It’s got to be tough – not being able to see him all the time, right?’

                ‘Huh.  Yeah.  We talk every night on the phone though – we make time for each other and that’s really important.’

Sam had nodded knowingly at Blaine’s comment, but all Blaine wanted to do was leave – leave the coffee shop, the conversation, the lies, and the enormous pachyderm in the room, far, far behind him.

                _Run away, Blaine.  Go on._

                ‘Look, Sam.  I have to go – I…uh…I lost my phone in that club –’  He fumbles in his coat pocket for a pen and, finding a scrap of manuscript paper, scrawls his home number down and hands it to Sam.  ‘- keep in touch, OK?’  He shoots Sam a smile, hoping it looks genuine enough.  Sam frowns slightly as he folds the paper and places it in the plaid pocket of his shirt.

                ‘You OK?  I mean, really?’

                ‘I’m great, Sam.’

                ‘OK…’

                ‘Call me, yeah?’

Sam nods and Blaine waves as he leaves; his heart and head pounding.

He would spend hours dwelling over what had made him lie to Sam when he finally got home – in fact, it was the reason he had been late calling Douglas that evening.  When he had finally gathered the courage to call he had not told Douglas about the conversation with Sam, or the plane tickets he had impulse purchased for the days bracketing Valentine’s Day; and, for the first time since they had started this…whatever _this_ phone thing they were doing was…Blaine had not felt better when he finally bid Douglas goodnight.

 

-+-

 

                He actually felt worse the closer he got to New York.  The plane journey was hellish - the toddler behind him kept kicking his seat and her much younger sibling seemed to take extremely violent and loud exception to the change in air pressure in the cabin.  He actively kept his mind as blank as possible, refusing to allow himself to second guess Douglas’ reaction to his turning up unannounced as he knew how poisonous his thoughts could be, and once landed, he would probably just end up running away again.  Instead he distracted himself with planning the perfect surprise dinner - justifying it to himself as a way of finally thanking Douglas for his generosity and friendship.  However, the turbulence as the flight approached JFK airport did nothing to help the sick feeling in his gut.

It took him longer than it should have to get a cab as he kept letting little old ladies, pregnant women, families with small children, women with small dogs…who was he kidding? - he let _everyone_ take a cab before him. 

                _You’re delaying the inevitable…_

Eventually there was no one to surrender his position in line to and he found himself standing, once again, outside Douglas’ building opposite Central Park on 5th Avenue on the Upper East Side. 

He had prepared a note for Douglas - anonymous of course (where would the surprise be otherwise?) – requesting his presence at a little Italian restaurant Blaine had been particularly fond of, that evening for dinner.  He passed the note to the active concierge – Gerry this evening – and explained his plan.  Once Gerry had sworn secrecy Blaine had headed out into New York to check into the hotel he had booked – there was no way he was expecting Douglas to feel obligated to put him up this time!  Blaine showered in an attempt to feel more human after the flight and then spent the rest of the day wandering by the Hudson – for once unconcerned and a little free with the knowledge that anyone he may not want to accidentally run into would actually be in Lima by now.

He returned to his hotel room to dress for dinner then headed to the restaurant, ensuring that he would be at least half an hour early – he was intimately familiar with Douglas’ schedule and how long it would take him to change and get to the restaurant after work. 

It was only then, surrounded by oblivious dining lovers on the night before Valentine’s Day, that he allowed himself to panic.


	2. Safety Net

### Safety Net

                He had been torn between waiting in for Blaine’s daily phone call and making his way into the city to meet his mystery dinner guest.  Gerry had stubbornly refused to break the anonymous note-writer’s confidence, and Douglas had found himself steadfastly refusing to read anything in to it.  That was until he found himself subconsciously matching ties, shirts, suits and shoes in his head. 

A part of him, one that should have been a lot smaller than it was, had allowed himself to fantasise that it would be Blaine, and seeing the youth in the flesh through the window of _Barbarini’s_ did something strange to Douglas’ chest.  He found himself walking past the restaurant and stopped a little way down the street out of breath and sweaty palmed. 

                _This is it then.  This is the moment that changes everything.  There is no going back after this.  You have to be the adult here – you have to set the boundaries.  Go in, be a gentleman and talk to him – this may just be an innocent meal between friends._

_On February 13 th._

_See – he didn’t choose Valentine’s day!  Stop reading too much into things.  Pull yourself together – you are a grown man over twice his age for goodness sakes!_

He took a couple of calming breaths then turned around, straightened his tie, and headed into the restaurant.

                As always, Blaine took his breath away – he had a couple of moments between the _maître d‘_ taking his winter dress coat and leading him to his table to take in the sight of Blaine.  He was radiant in the soft candlelight and for a moment Douglas allowed himself to pretend this was a date.  He managed to shake the thought away by the time he reached the table and his eyes once again locked with the warm amber of his companion’s.  He thought he saw relief in them but it could have been a trick of the light.

Blaine stood, the perfect gentleman, upon seeing Douglas and waited until the older man had taken a seat before retaking his.  Douglas smiled gently at him.

                ‘Thank you.’

The soft timbre of his voice was so much _more_ in person and Douglas found that he had missed this – the simplicity of dining together; of breaking bread and conversing.  But there was a fragility there that he suddenly could not bear.

                ‘Whatever for, Blaine?’

                ‘Coming.  I…I wasn’t wholly sure that you would.’

                ‘I’ll admit – your note intrigued me.’  Douglas noted the faint hint of colour as it brushed Blaine’s cheeks highlighting his cheekbones in extremely attractive way.  He licked his lips.  ‘I would have come immediately had you signed your name to your request – I was not certain that I was going to show myself until I found myself outside.’

He was not sure why he teased Blaine, but he found that he liked the way his companion’s lashes brushed the apples of his cheeks when he looked down in embarrassment.  He found that he was even more fond of the way Blaine’s eyes darted back up to capture his own – hypnotising and swirling with reflected flames.

The _sommelier_ broke the spell and Blaine deferred to Douglas’

                ‘far greater age and expertise’

when it came to choose the wine for the evening.  Douglas found himself having to clear his throat when he saw the light smile twist Blaine’s lips – the lad was teasing him back.

                Years ago Douglas would have been nervous dining in public with another man – but with Blaine it felt _right_ somehow.  Perhaps it was the lad’s age – perhaps everyone assumed Blaine was his son or nephew.  Perhaps it was because New York had changed, or that everyone there was too wrapped up in their own conversations to notice?  Or perhaps it was because Douglas no longer cared what anyone else thought? 

 

-+-

 

                ‘So, Blaine, what brings you back to New York?  I’m surprised you didn’t mention a visit when we spoke yesterday.’

Douglas took a bite of his sirloin as he waited patiently for Blaine to finish his sip of Bordeaux.  They had discussed all manner of things but nothing of real consequence, and Douglas had finally reached the limit of his patience – Blaine did not seem willing to broach the topic naturally and it was killing Douglas not knowing.  He glanced at the almost empty bottle on the table – perhaps it was a combination of needing to understand what this was and _wine_.

Blaine seemed about to speak when the _sommelier_ reappeared to replace the empty bottle with a fresh one.  The tiny Italian man made pouring wine an art form but Douglas felt impatience rumbling as the gentleman took his time. 

Douglas took a sip himself once the _sommelier_ had left again, and glanced over the rim of the glass at Blaine as the young man cleared his throat.

                ‘I…hm.’  The little, uncertain huff resonated through Douglas and he found himself leaning forwards towards Blaine.  Their eyes met and it was as if his world had reduced right down to the table and the devastatingly handsome man opposite him.  Later, when he replayed the events of that evening in his head, over and over, he would be unable to recall who reached across for whose hand first – but he would remember with utter clarity the warmth of long, soft fingers entwined with his own.  He would dwell upon the reassuring brush of a thumb over the silky smoothness of the back of Blaine’s hand and the way the younger man’s breath had hitched slightly.  ‘I wanted to see you.’

His confession is soft and almost silent, but Douglas feels his body react.

 

-+-

 

                After dessert, coffee, and iced _limoncello_ he feels something within him twist as the young waiter who had been giving Blaine eyes all evening jokes with him, and Blaine laughs lightly in response.  Sharply freezing bubbles writhe within his core and multiply as he watches, and later, much later, he will realise that it was at least partly because, deep down, he _knows_ that the young blonde waiter would be better for Blaine – he is, if nothing else, closer in age to him.  But right then in the candlelight with the rich aromas of thyme, lemon, coffee, red fruits and sharp tannin enveloping them, and the alcohol warming his veins; all he knows is that he needs that look – that flirty and unself-conscious laughter to be aimed at _him_.  Not at the boy-waiter who looks like he would be more comfortable on a beach on the west coast – _he is probably another want-to-be model or actor_.

He watches as Blaine pays and makes silent plans to reciprocate the next evening now that he knows Blaine’s itinerary.  He drains the remaining _limoncello_ from his glass, then stands, and purposefully takes Blaine’s overcoat from the waiter, holding it out for him himself.  Blaine’s cheeks are glowing with alcohol but Douglas feels his companion’s physical reaction to his gesture as his hand brushes Blaine’s arm.  He only just manages to prevent himself from kissing Blaine’s cheek and instead allows the waiter to help him with his own overcoat, then steps back and gestures for Blaine to lead the way back out into the bracing February air.  A small part (which should really have been larger) is grateful for the sobering effect of the wind, but he still finds himself holding out his arm for Blaine. 

                ‘Come back to mine for a coffee?’

 

-+-

 

                Blaine love-hates the way that Douglas’ questions usually seem to be commands, and the way that his body always says “yes” before his mind can rebel, but with the warmth of the wine, lemon liqueur, and the fullness of a rich meal he can think of no better way to end the evening.

They get a taxi back to Douglas’ and for the second time that day he finds himself outside Douglas’ building.  Being the consummate gentleman, Douglas gets the door for Blaine and Blaine feels an uncomfortable pang of remembrance for when he used to perform that gesture for Kurt.  Bitterness creeps into his mouth and he shivers violently in response as the warm air from the foyer hits him.  He almost misses Douglas’ concerned look and Blaine manages to shake his head lightly as Douglas calls the elevator. 

It feels so strange to find himself being stripped of his jacket again in Douglas’ hallway, however, this time he is wearing shoes.  He giggles a little at the thought and has to grip a nearby mahogany ladder-back hall chair to stabilise himself as he fumbles the laces.

                ‘Coffee?’

Douglas’ voice is like a lighthouse beacon and allows Blaine to focus again through the fog of his cluttered, jagged thoughts and he manages to nod before a dark thought reaches the surface.

                ‘Actually – how about a nightcap?’

He does not miss the slight surprise in Douglas’ eyes as he takes in Blaine’s appearance and Blaine forces himself to look adult and sober in response.  He feels a tremor of excitement as Douglas nods his head slightly and makes his way into the main living room instead of the kitchen.  Blaine follows, revelling in the feeling of his cold, sock clad feet in the thick, deep pile of the cream carpets. 

He had only briefly seen the living room before and he takes the opportunity to actually appreciate it this time.  One wall is papered with a pattern he cannot make out in duck egg and cream - the others are an inviting latte, and Blaine watches from the doorway as Douglas lights the four small bronze table lamps before making his way to the crystal decanter on the sideboard.

                ‘Bourbon alright?’  Douglas’ voice is a little gruff but Blaine puts it down to the late hour and cold air.

                ‘Perfect, thank you.’

He turns and finds that the wallpaper is actually a map of New York, and Blaine finds himself smiling at how utterly _Douglas_ it is.  He notices other things too – the way that the table lamps are art neuveau works of art in their own right, reflecting the lily theme from the hall - but the thing that really catches Blaine’s eye is the clock on the mantelpiece.  It is an intricate skeleton clock and Blaine finds himself drawn to the movement.  Above the fireplace is a large over-mantle mirror with a heavy cream and bronze frame – the darkness of the glass, and the flaking of the foil suggest age, but it aside from using it to ensure his hair was still perfectly intact and had remained un-ravaged by the wind, it does not hold his interest for long.  Instead his attention is captured by a small unassuming pen-and-ink picture in a frame – no more than a sketch of a small bird at first glance, however, under closer scrutiny one can see it is made up of a number of impossibly small gears – almost as if it were a design for a mechanical toy. 

The clink of ice against lead-crystal startles him slightly and he turns to find Douglas holding out a short tumbler containing dark amber liquid that smells of oak and warm fires in Winter. 

                ‘Sorry – I was distracted by your bird.’

Douglas smiles as Blaine takes the glass.

                ‘Just a sketch I did when I was in college.’

                ‘It’s so detailed.’

                ‘Thank you.’

There is a moment when neither man moves, but it is broken when Douglas smiles slightly then gestures to the regency-style couch.

Blaine follows and takes a seat feeling suddenly nervous and a little overwhelmed.  He takes a sip to settle his nerves and is dimly aware that he must be drunk when he does not flinch at the strength of the alcohol.

 

-+-

 

                He is actually happy and relaxed and comfortable for the first time since _before_ and he enjoys the warmth of his limbs.  They feel loose and his is tempted to dance but he really wants to prove to Douglas that he is worthy of his attention so he forces himself to keep still.  Douglas is smiling and Blaine finds himself simply appreciating his friend for the umpteenth time that evening.  His eyes are _fascinating_ – he does not think he has ever seen such dark eyes before – they are close to Doug’s but somehow they are warmer tonight, not frosted as they usually are.  He leans forward a little to get a better look – to try to see what it was about that specific moment that makes Douglas’ eyes so warm - when he suddenly realises he is staring.  Mortified, he tries to look away but Douglas is smiling and it is so warm and genuine that Blaine cannot tear his eyes away from the man in front of him.  It is only when he notices out of the corner of his eye that both his and Douglas’ glasses are empty that he finds the strength to reach out and gently take Douglas’ from him.  He has to use every ounce of concentration to ensure that he does not wobble as he makes his way over to the sideboard – things are simultaneously in slow motion and fast-forward and he feels a little off.  The last thing he wants is to break a glass or, god forbid, the decanter, so he tries to concentrate as he pours out two more measures but his arms do not seem to be co-operating as well as he would like.

                ‘Charming.’

He is not certain Douglas actually spoke so he turns slightly and raises a questioning eyebrow.

                ‘Sorry?’

                ‘You.  You are utterly charming.’

                ‘Um…thank you?’

                ‘You really are you know.  That first time I saw you - you mesmerised me, Blaine.’

His heart is hammering in his ears and his thoughts are cluttered but he manages to make his way back to the sofa without spilling the whiskey.  Douglas’ fingers brush his own as he passes over the glass, and Blaine finds himself craving their warmth.  He settles down close to Douglas – their thighs touch and the heat of them spreads up through his system.  He gently clinks his glass to Douglas’ in a toast and Douglas smiles a little, questioningly.

                ‘What was that for?’

                ‘You.  Project Narcissus.  I realised we hadn’t celebrated.’

The smile Douglas gives him illuminates the room and Blaine finds that he never wants it to leave and the inevitability of its departure is a physical ache inside him.  He feels the familiar threat of tears prickle in the back of his throat and the corners of his eyes so he forces himself to take a sip of the bourbon to stave them off.

                ‘Thank you for tonight.’  Douglas’ voice is warm and Blaine bathes in it as the alcohol slides down.

                ‘No – thank you for showing up.’

                ‘I’ve missed this, you know.’

                ‘I missed you too.’

A hand brushes his thigh, but it must have been his imagination because Douglas made it clear last time that they are just friends.  But they aren’t just friends, are they?  Blaine’s mind whirrs as he desperately tries to piece together what _this_ is before he makes a complete fool of himself _again_.  His mind helpfully gives him a brief show of the _Gap Attack_ disaster and he grimaces.

                ‘Are you OK, Blaine?’

The warm weight of the hand on his thigh is distracting but he manages to nod.

                ‘Yes.  Yes.  Sorry – my… uh… my thoughts went somewhere for a minute there.’

Douglas looks concerned, and is it Blaine’s imagination or is he leaning closer to him?  Blaine finds himself leaning in closer to Douglas and he can feel the warmth of the other man’s breath against his lips.  That is all it takes.

 

                -+-

 

                He wakes up slowly, so slowly, and vows _again_ that he will never, ever, have another drink.  It is warm under the pristine white sheets and goose-down duvet so he snuggles back down for a moment before the icy chill brings him to terrifying sobriety. 

He is in the guest room at Douglas’ not in the hotel room he booked. 

He is naked.

Desperately he tries to piece together the previous night’s events after they got back to Douglas’ for a drink.  He remembers talking on the couch.  He recalls the comfortable warmth and how at home he felt and the look in Douglas’ eyes.  The one that had made him want to never leave.

And rejection.

It is there – clear as day; he remembers Douglas’ hand on his thigh and the way he had leant towards Blaine.  He had been _mesmerised_ – that was the word he had used.  You were not mesmerised by friends.  They were not friends.  Blaine remembered keenly how desperately he had wanted to feel Douglas’ lips against his own again – his body had been keening for it, and he had known then exactly what he had wanted – he had wanted Douglas.  He had wanted Douglas since the day he had first seen him, and, more than that – Douglas had wanted _him_.

Suddenly, more than breathing, Blaine needed to know.  He needed to know whether what was between them was real.  He launched himself out of bed and was about to head to the kitchen before he realised that he was nude.  Throwing his eveningwear back on he made his way out into the hallway and back into the kitchen he was almost as familiar with as the one in his parents’ house. 

Douglas was there, immaculately dressed as always, reading with a mug of steaming coffee and a bacon roll and Blaine’s heart flipped lightly at the homely sight and aroma.  He stopped in his tracks and watched for what felt like _hours_.  He took a steadying breath.

                _What is the worst that can happen here?  I have a hotel room booked so if he kicks me out I have somewhere to go so it’s not like last time but at least I will know. I need to know that this is not all in my head…_

                ‘I think we need to talk.’  It came out strong and sure, and Blaine counted that as an initial success.

                ‘I know.’  Douglas’ reply was resigned and Blaine frowned in response.  ‘I’m sorry about last night, Blaine.’ 

The words stung like nettles and Blaine felt his skin prickle.

                ‘Why?’

                ‘I shouldn’t have let…’  He trails off but there is something in Douglas’ eyes that sends off a spark in Blaine’s.

                ‘Shouldn’t have let what, Douglas?’

                ‘I can’t let this happen.’

                ‘Let what happen?’

                ‘Please don’t.’

                ‘Don’t what?’

                ‘Don’t make me spell it out.’

                ‘Why?  I think someone needs to because I don’t think we are on the same page here at all.’

                ‘I am scared, Blaine.’

                ‘What of?’

                ‘Me.’

He feels frozen in place on Douglas’ kitchen floor, unable to breathe lest he shatter into a thousand fragile shards - but he needs to know.

                ‘I need to be the adult here.’

                ‘No.’

                ‘I’m sorry?’

                ‘No – you don’t get to use age against me, Douglas.’

                ‘Blaine –’

                ‘No.  It’s a feeble excuse and you know it is.’

He watches Douglas shrink before him and a part of Blaine feels horrible for causing it, but he knows simultaneously that this conversation will make them both stronger in the long run, regardless of its outcome.  He takes a breath.

                ‘What are you scared of, Douglas?’

                ‘Please let me be strong, Blaine.’

                ‘How is letting you deny this letting you be strong?  Explain it to me – I’m a child remember?  Sometimes I need an adult to explain things to me.’

                ‘Don’t -’

                ‘Don’t _what_?  Don’t fall for you because I’m sorry to tell you this but it is a bit too late for that.’  He can feel the frustration rising in his blood and he knows he’s losing control but he cannot bring himself to care.  Douglas’ silence infuriates him and he feels himself raise his voice.  ‘Deny it, Douglas.  Deny it.  You have feelings for me too and you are too much of a coward to let yourself consider the possibility that I might be able to make you happy.’  The words fall around them like ash and Blaine finds himself walking towards where Douglas is sat seemingly frozen.  ‘I want to make you happy, Douglas.  Let me?’

He reaches out and takes Douglas’ hand in his own and gently pulls the taller man to his feet.

                ‘What are you scared of?’

                ‘You’re so young…’

                ‘It’s what other people will think, right?  Let them talk!  It’s not a new concept – there’s no rule book.  I’m not a minor so it’s not breaking any laws.  Stop.  Stop making excuses.  Please.’  Douglas’ free hand strays hesitantly to Blaine’s hip and Blaine moves in closer a little dizzy with the power of instigating.  ‘Does it look like I’m running away, Dougl-?’

It takes his breath away when he feels Douglas’ lips press against his own and his hand pull him in closer until his body is pressed against the taller man’s.  Douglas tastes like coffee and cinnamon and Blaine feels himself moan a little as he gives himself to the physical pressure of _lips_.  He cups the other man’s stubbled jaw with his free hand as he guides Douglas’ other hand to join the other behind him, freeing his other hand to slide up around Douglas’ neck.  A thrill runs through him as he leads the kiss – opening his lips a little to encourage Douglas and pressing their chests together – but he does not relax fully until he feels the other man stop, then trail sweet kisses down Blaine’s neck in a strange reversal of their last attempt at this - but this time they are both sober.  This time there is no miscommunication. 

Blaine feels Douglas’ hands grip the material of his shirt, untucking it at the back, and Blaine turns his head back to meet the taller man’s lips again feeling them tighten as they pull into an uncertain smile.  Blaine finds himself smiling back and gently rests his forehead against Douglas’.

                ‘Good talk?’

                ‘Good talk.’

Douglas’ laugh is free and Blaine finds himself reciprocating – it is a funny kind of high for a moment, both lost in the surreal nature of how their heated argument descended into a make-out session.  Blaine closes his eyes as he tries to absorb what just happened but feels guilt nibble at him.  Douglas’ hand gently lifts Blaine’s chin and their eyes meet.

                ‘Are you OK?’  Douglas’ eyes are dark and intense.  Blaine looks down.

He is not completely sure why, but somehow he feels a little dirty – as if he is somehow betraying Kurt, _again_ – but Kurt is not his; Kurt is in Lima with his new college boyfriend at Mr. Schue’s wedding.  Blaine is not doing anything wrong.

Blaine lets his eyes meet Douglas’ again and he sees the worry beneath the warm chocolate and he can _feel_ Douglas closing himself off again.  He cannot let that happen.

                ‘I’m fine.’  He forces himself to smile but he knows Douglas will see straight through it so he kisses him instead – it is soft and chaste but it seems to have the desired effect.

                ‘So…what now?’

                ‘Um… Happy Valentine’s Day, I guess.’

Douglas laughs then, and Blaine feels like he has at least done something right – as confused as he feels in that instant he somehow knows that he will be alright so long as he can keep making Douglas smile.

                ‘I meant – would you like breakfast?  But Happy Valentine’s Day to you too, Blaine.’

                ‘Oh!  Sorry.  Yes – breakfast would be good.’

He untangles himself from Blaine seemingly reluctantly and makes his way over to the grill.

                ‘What did you have planned for the rest of your mini break – which I am beginning to suspect involved wooing me…’

                ‘You suspect correctly.’  Blaine winks at Douglas as he fixes Blaine a bacon sandwich and some coffee.  ‘Seriously though – I didn’t really plan much further than dinner yesterday.  I…I don’t really know what I was thinking only that I was hoping…I…’  His eyes drop to his hands and he finds himself fascinated by his fingers.

                ‘No – you don’t get to go all coy now, Mr. Anderson.  Not after that lovely speech you gave me.  We still need to talk about…whatever _this_ is…but first - breakfast and some fresh air?’

Not for the first time he finds himself utterly grateful for Douglas.  Blaine meets his eyes and nods slightly, then consciously forces himself to push the niggling _wrong_ feeling to the side and to focus on building the foundations with Douglas.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, I just want to thank you all for your continued support. Work has broken up for the holidays now so I should be back to updating more regularly (this and "Morning Song"!). Thank you for bearing with me. I love you all. x-X-x


	3. Falling Stars and Setting Suns

### Falling Stars and Setting Suns

            Kurt felt sick, and not an “I’ve had too much to drink” sick, or an “I don’t think that seafood was fresh” sick - _Sick_ sick, like “what am I doing in a hotel room alone with this man?” sick.  Thinking back; it had something to do with what Sam had said to him, though, now when his ears were ringing like church bells he wonders whether he simply misheard.  Definition: wishful thinking?

Mr. Schue’s wedding had been a disaster from start to finish – for one thing the bride had “done a runner” as Finn had so delicately put it, and for another there were some _seriously_ questionable design choices regarding both the decorations and a couple of the guests’ dress choices.  At least there were baby cupcakes – he needed something sweet to try to take away the bitter taste in his mouth. 

If he had not met Brittany he would have had difficulty believing that someone with as little tact could actually exist – with Sam and Brittany together it was like being trapped in the _Legally Blonde_ musical.  Sidebar – no one was surprised that the two blondes were now a couple.  Frankly Kurt was kind of fascinated by their dynamic – what could two such, special, individuals discuss behind closed doors?  He still cannot recall how the subject of his ex-boyfriend even came up, but he had found himself listening to Sam talking about coffee, then suddenly he was hearing about Blaine’s older, not-in-college, works-for-his-father in New York boyfriend and Kurt had felt as if he had fallen from a great height.  His ears were full of static and Sam had carried on, seemingly oblivious to the fact that Kurt had stopped breathing.  Kurt had been saved suddenly when Sam had been dragged onto the dance floor by Brittany with no more than a ‘Later, dude!’

Maybe that is why he had agreed to go upstairs with Adam to the hotel room the blue-eyed Brit had booked for them.  So far, Kurt had avoided staying _with_ Adam using the excuse that he should spend some time with his father while he was back in Ohio – especially as his father had prostate cancer and was undergoing treatment.  Kurt finds it concerning that it did not occur to him to ask his father whether Adam could stay with him – it just _didn’t_. 

            ‘Are you OK, Kurt?’

Adam’s voice is soft and the concern in his blue eyes makes something within Kurt twist.  He manages to nod but is met with a raised eyebrow.

            ‘We don’t have to do anything if you don’t feel ready.’

For some reason he cannot place, Kurt finds that statement hilarious but he manages to reduce his external reaction to a nervous giggle and raises a hand to cover his mouth.  It’s so painful – the tenderness with which Adam gently takes Kurt’s hand down.

            ‘You don’t have to hide from me, Kurt.  But if _this_ is going to work I think you need to be honest with me.’

            ‘I’m fine, Adam.  I’m here aren’t I?’

            ‘Are you?’

            ‘What is that even supposed to mean?’

            ‘It’s just…’  Adam keeps hold of Kurt’s hand and makes to move closer to him but Kurt steps back before he has even processed Adam’s insinuated intention.  ‘Exactly this!  I feel like you’re not really here with me.  You spent the first half of the day like a meerkat in the church.  Who were you looking for?  Your ex?’

            ‘I wasn’t looking _for_ anybody.’

            ‘Look, Kurt.  I really, really like you.  And I think…I think that we could have something really great.  But it takes two, Kurt.  And right now – I’m not sure you’re in this with me.’

            ‘I’m here with you.  I invited you.  Isn’t that enough?’

            ‘I deserve better, Kurt.’

            ‘Then go get better!’  The volume of his voice shocks him slightly and he takes another step backwards, away from Adam, away from this conversation.  He needs to think – he needs out of this.  He needs to understand why it still hurts.

            _He cheated on me – I’m supposed to be moving on.  There is a gorgeous man in a hotel room with me, who_ wants _me, and I don’t want him.  I want_ him _but he’s not here and he’s moved on and I shouldn’t want him because he hurt me so badly…_

A hand on his shoulder breaks his internal derailment.

            ‘You’re not over him.’

            ‘I want to be!  I’m trying to be.’  It feels like falling.

 

-+-

 

            Snuggled into the supple leather of the chair in the library he lets himself be lost for a while.  Douglas had left for work with a kiss and a promise of a romantic dinner, leaving the lingering spice of aftershave and cinnamon on Blaine’s clothes.  Douglas had suggested that he check-out of the hotel, so Blaine had braced the bitter February chill to retrieve his bag and settle his bill then had made his way back to the comfort of the penthouse and settled back into the guestroom.  The fluttering feeling that had been present since that first kiss had intensified as he had used the key Douglas had given him and now his belly felt full of snakes; writhing.  He clutched the mug in his hand tighter and tried to focus on the text in front of him, but the words kept blurring into each other as his mind meandered across the page.  Eventually he gave up and let himself try to work through his thoughts and feelings.  Compare and contrast.  An exercise.

            _Why does this time feel different?  I’ve had a boyfriend before.  It was serious and I ~~loved~~ ~~love~~ love ~~d~~ him.  But he doesn’t love me.  So I moved on.  To someone who loves me for who I am – broken, damaged, pathetic.  _

_Are we a couple now?  He said we needed to talk but he kissed me… and it felt… good.  It felt good.  Not like kissing Kurt.  Not like kissing Eli.  Not like kissing Kurt._

_Maybe he kissed me out of pity.  No, he’s better than that._

_Better than you._

_He’s a grown man!  He’s a successful businessman.  What could I offer him really?  I’m just a boy who plays at love._

_But he sees_ me _.  He does not treat me like a child.  He treats me like an equal.  He makes me feel sexy and wanted and_ safe _.  He makes me feel.  I think I could love him.  I think I could take away his loneliness.  I want to make him happy – he has been so good to me – I want to give something back.  This is something I can give him._

_You make it sound like a business transaction._

_You don’t know what you are doing, Blaine.  You’re just a boy.  What will stop you repeating the same mistakes over and over?_

_What if he comes back and doesn’t want me?_

_What if he does?_

-+-

 

            ‘Roger, I don’t know what I’m doing.’

His hands are shaking as he holds the cell phone. 

            ‘Diggsie,’ his brother’s voice exudes exasperation, ‘I _warned_ you.  I told you to be careful.  You’re going to have to let the lad down gently.’

            ‘He’s something special, Rog.  He makes me feel and it has been so long since I felt this way.  I _tried_ to keep my distance but he’s like the sun and I couldn’t stay away.’

            ‘You need to talk to him about this.’

            ‘I know.  I know.’  He runs a hand through his hair in frustration.  ‘You know… In all my other relationships I don’t think I ever fell this hard this quickly before.  He makes me want to be a better person.’

            ‘He’s a teenager.’

            ‘You don’t think I know that?  You don’t think I know how bad this will look?’

            ‘Calm down.’

Douglas grits his teeth in response.

            ‘Look, Diggsie, I don’t know what to tell you here.  Dad’s going to have an aneurism…but if you’re happy –‘

            ‘I think I could be.’

            ‘Then try it.’

            ‘You make it sound like a foreign vegetable.’

            ‘You were always the romantic, Diggsie.’

He closes his eyes and swallows.

            ‘What do I do, Rog?’

            ‘I can’t tell you who to date but I can be here for you when it all goes to shit.’

            ‘Thanks for the vote of confidence, little brother.’

            ‘Anytime.’

A smile.

            ‘Just a suggestion – make sure you are certain before you go public.  Take it slow for a bit first?  Just be _sure_ , OK?’

            ‘OK.’

 

-+-

 

            His fingers itch.  He wants to text Kurt – it had been his first instinct for so long.  But, even if he still had Kurt’s number – if he had not lost his phone in that club – he _cannot_. 

            _Kurt has moved on.  You heard Sam – he has a date for Mr. Schue’s wedding (which must be happening right now…I hope they got the flowers I sent.  I hope by sending them I was not overstepping).  Kurt.  Kurt has moved on.  Without you.  He’s probably very happy.  He deserves to be happy.  It’s about time you moved on too._

His fingertips worry the leather binding in his lap – tracing letters across the surface.  Words.  Patterns.  Dreams.

He wishes it were easy.  It has been so easy with Kurt – after their initial fumblings and misunderstandings.              They were all firsts to mark off together.

This, with Douglas, is different.  He knew it would be, academically speaking, of course.  But, in so many ways it is the same – the flutter in his gut when they are due to meet is the same.  The chill of anticipation.  The deep tightening and sigh of arousal.  The sensitivity of touch.  All those physical markers of attraction – these are all the same.  But this time there is a niggle.  Perhaps there is always a niggle after your first relationship?  Maybe it is normal.  Maybe it is there to stop you making the same mistakes again.  Maybe it is there to remind you that you blew your first love.

He briefly considers trying to talk to Sebastian or Hunter – he dismisses Doug immediately for obvious reasons – but he does not think either boy would be useful.  They are not exactly kin to the concept of Romance, and Hunter would probably just high-five him…

He groans in frustration. 

The scrape-jingle of a key in the lock breaks his reverie and he realises that his coffee is long-cold.

 

-+-

 

            They do not discuss _them_ until they get back from dinner – both flitter instead around bright topics of distraction like moths.  Neither really has an appetite anyway.

The living room is warm when they settle down on the sofa beside each other.  Each clutching lead crystal, hearts pounding, heads buzzing.

Douglas breaks first.

            ‘I’ve been thinking…’

Blaine studies his companion and notices the tightness of his jaw as Douglas’ sentence trails off, the words hanging in the air like incense.

            ‘So have I.’

            ‘I don’t know what _this_ is.  But I do know that I really care about you, Blaine.’

            ‘I care about you too.’

            ‘And I want…I trust you.  I trust you to know how you are feeling, and I trust you to always be honest with me.’  Douglas takes Blaine’s free hand in his and their eyes lock – honey and chocolate reflecting each other and blending in swirls of emotion and turmoil.  ‘If we are going to try _this_ …I think…I think we need to take it slowly.’

His throat feels tight and Blaine cannot trust himself to speak so he simply nods his agreement.  Douglas seems to understand.

            ‘I don’t know what this is between us – whether it is love or lust or loneliness or some twisted blend of the three, but I do know I don’t want to go another day without at least _trying_ to find out what it is, Blaine.  Does that make sense?’

The corners of his eyes crinkle with his smile and Blaine finds himself mirroring the expression.  He swallows in an attempt to rid his throat of the dry-feeling.

            ‘Okay.’

 

-+-

 

            The feeling of Douglas’ lips on his own was fresh on his mind as he arrived back in Ohio.  They had stayed up for most of the previous night talking – talking about parents and past relationships and careers.  About favourite colours and composers and films.  Then they had retired to their separate beds with a kiss and Blaine had found himself tossing and writhing with frustration – the first downside to being a teenager in a relationship with an older man and agreeing to “take it slowly”. 

He focuses on getting top grades so that he can go to Columbia – he feels as if a veil has been lifted from his mind and he has regained his focus.  If Sebastian notices the difference in Blaine he does not mention it.

Seeing Doug should have been awkward but Blaine knows that “taking it slow” in part means that Douglas wants to be _sure_ before telling his family – so Doug does not know.  Yet.  He has some time to cross that bridge in the future and it is definitely not something he is looking forward to.  He tries to relate to how Doug may respond by imagining if Cooper dated one of his friends – but soon dismisses his idle speculation for what it is and pushes the thought to the side to worry about when he has to.

            He did not expect to bump into Burt – he had steadfastly avoided driving near the Hummel-Hudson household and had skirted around “Hummel Tyres and Lube” keeping it at a distance.  He convinced himself it was because he was embarrassed by what happened over Christmas.  So bumping into Burt during routine grocery shopping was not something he had been prepared for.  Luckily his mother had been a couple of isles over looking for some chestnuts for her chestnut and pancetta soup.

            ‘Blaine, hi.’

            ‘Mr. Hummel.’

            ‘Good to see you, kid.’

            ‘You too.  You look….well.’  He cringes internally because every time he thinks of Mr. Hummel now the man is inextricably linked to “Cancer”.

            ‘You too.  Look, Blaine, I’m sorry about what happened with Kurt -’

            ‘It’s fine.  Really.  I don’t blame him.’

            ‘I know.  But I feel kind of responsible.’

            ‘Don’t.  It was probably for the best.’

Burt gives Blaine a look like he can see right through him and Blaine forces himself not to break eye contact with the man he was certain would be family.

            ‘How’s the treatment going?’  Blaine kicks himself for using Burt’s disease as a distraction, but it works and he breathes a tiny sigh of relief as the senior Hummel drops the subject.

            ‘Well – it’s intensive.  But I’m a fighter.  Carole and Kurt have me on all these homeopathic remedy things - you don’t want to know the details, but Hummel men are fighters.’

            ‘That you are.’

The silence stretches between them like filo. 

            ‘Keep me in the loop, okay?’

            ‘You bet I will.’

            ‘Thank you.’

            ‘Take care of yourself, Anderson.’

            ‘You too, sir.’

            ‘How many times do I have to tell you – call me Burt.’

            ‘Take care, Burt.’

Blaine watches the other man walk away and leans heavily on the shopping cart as his knees weaken.  He drags air deep into his lungs and tries to blink the black swarm out of his vision.  He meets up with his mother once he can see again and lets his body act of its own accord until he is back in the safety of his room.  It is then, and only then, that he allows himself to cry.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: To all of you who are keeping with me - thank you. This story is for each of you. <3


	4. Treading Water

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for graphic descriptions of oral sex.

### Treading Water

            It had seemed like a good idea – sensible and very _adult_ to “take it slow”, which roughly translated as making sure that they were both in the right headspace, so to speak.  The reality is so much more frustrating and he is not wholly sure why he thought that the distance would actually make things easier.  The weeks since Valentine’s Day drag by painfully slowly though they talk every night without fail, even when Douglas’ stress levels are sky-high the closer his trip to China gets.  For Blaine, it is small comfort every time he hears the _click_ of the phone being answered, or each time the house phone rings – however, once his parents had started asking questions as to _why_ Roger’s brother was calling for Blaine so often he had suggested to Douglas that he only call Blaine when they were certain that it would be Blaine who answered the phone.  The sneaking around had felt sexy and dangerous at first, but the initial tingling shudder that possessed his body whenever the phone rang eventually faded back to a subtle swoop in the pit of his stomach.

Blaine had started to feel tetchy and his friends had noticed him withdraw a little from them – he preferred to keep his evenings free for his boyfriend than spend it with his friends – and both Sebastian and Hunter had given him hell over it.  Ironically, only Doug had defended Blaine – Blaine was not certain that Doug would continue his defence of Blaine’s actions when he learnt the identity of Blaine’s mysterious older man.

However, on the bright-side Blaine was acing his classes as, whilst alone and waiting for 10pm to come, he had plenty of time to get homework and assignments done.  The other benefit was that the Warblers held a large percentage of his attention and they had never sounded better.  He was actually pretty confident that they would win their upcoming Regionals competition against the Whiffenpoofs and the Hoosier Daddies.  He suspected that this was the only thing keeping Sebastian and Hunter on his side overall as neither had lost interest in the identity of Blaine’s boyfriend and both were rapidly growing tired of Blaine’s dancing around the subject.  Hunter outright accused him of making it all up where as Sebastian was certain that Blaine was back with Kurt “after everything that happened”.

            ‘He’s right to keep it a secret.  Hell, I’d be embarrassed if I got back with someone that not only dumped me, but then abandoned me in New York!  Seriously – no wonder he’s hiding it!  It’s not like Hummel’s actually hot – Blaine knows he could do far better.’

Hunter frowns slightly at Sebastian’s monologue and raises his eyebrows at Doug.

            ‘Don’t ask me.  He’s not said a word to me about it.  If he doesn’t want to tell us – we have to respect that.’  Doug finishes off the last of his coffee and glances over to where Blaine is getting their next round.  He catches Hunter’s eyes and smiles slightly when Hunter rolls his.

            ‘Regardless – I don’t get why he won’t hang out anymore.  Whether it is Kurt or isn’t, or whether there actually _is_ a guy – in all scenarios there is no excuse.  Kurt lives in New York, as does the debatable mystery man so it’s not like they’re fucking every night or anything.’  Hunter finishes the last piece of biscotti.

            ‘I don’t know.  Maybe something else is up.’

            ‘Like what, Doug?’  Sebastian raises an eyebrow in question.

            ‘Like, something at home?’

            ‘Nah – he’d tell us.’  Hunter dismisses Doug’s idea flippantly just as Blaine settles the four fresh coffees down on the table.

            ‘What’re we discussing?’  Blaine smiles but it is forced and earns him a frown from Sebastian.

            ‘We are still debating the identity –‘

            ‘Or existence!’  Hunter adds.

            ‘Yes – or existence, of this boyfriend who keeps you from us.’  Sebastian raises his cup in a mock toast to Blaine.

            ‘Seriously guys?  Give it a break already.’  Blaine’s face drops and he hides by prising the lid from the paper cup and adding sugar.

            ‘I’m thinking of starting a betting pool.  I reckon the rest of the guys would go in on it.  Doug – you could get the football team in on it, right?  I’ll take the lacrosse team and Hunter can sort the Warblers.’  Sebastian watches Blaine’s face intently as he makes his thinly veiled threat.  Blaine rolls his eyes and fiddles with the plastic lid.

            ‘What can I do to make you just drop it?’  He sighs.

            ‘Hang with us?  Tell us the truth?’  Hunter suggests.

            ‘I have told you – we’re taking it slow.  It’s…new, for both of us – and we want to be certain.  How is that hard to grasp?’  Blaine’s frustration is palpable and Doug shoots Hunter a warning glance which he promptly ignores.

            ‘What’s wrong with him?’

            ‘Nothing!  Why does anything have to be wrong with him?  He’s actually pretty damn near perfect!’

            ‘Hey, Blaine – they’re just teasing you.  Just drop it, guys.’  Doug pleads as he attempts to placate his friend.

            ‘Oh dear!  Anderson’s cussing!’  Hunter grins.  Sebastian’s eyes flicker and in that moment he is all sharp cunning.

            ‘Yeah, Hunt – Doug’s right.  Respect Blaine’s wishes, OK?’  Hunter throws Sebastian a questioning look but Sebastian’s attention is entirely on Blaine.  Blaine feels like a novice snake charmer.  ‘So, Blaine – when do you think you’ll be up for a night out then?  Now that we have established _why_ you and the Mr. are keeping things tight – you can tell us why you’re busy all the time, yeah?  It’s not like you’re new beau is a control freak like the last one or anything, right?  This one trusts you with your best friends?’

            ‘Of course he trusts me.’

            ‘Exactly – so you can come out with us on Friday night, yeah?’  Sebastian takes a sip of his coffee, his eyes never leaving Blaine’s.

            ‘Bas – I’ve been busy with school work and composing arrangements for Regionals.  You know that.  It’s not like I’ve been abandoning you on purpose.  I’m sure you, Hunter and Doug are perfectly capable of having a good time without me.’  Blaine holds Sebastian’s eyes as he takes a sip.  It feels like a gun fight.

            ‘Sure – but you’ve got the whole weekend to do your assignments, right?’

            ‘What’s happening on Friday, Bas?’

            ‘I was thinking we could let loose a little?  Have some fun.  You deserve a break, Blaine – you’ve been working too hard.’

Hunter and Doug both seem to hold their breath throughout their friends’ exchange and a part of him finds the entire situation amusing.  Blaine forces himself to smile.

            ‘It’s sweet that you care.’  He takes another sip of his coffee – letting his three companions lean forward subconsciously in anticipation.  Blaine takes a breath, sighs gently, and then unleashes his wildcard.  ‘Friday I’m not available though.  Perhaps the week after?  You see – my boyfriend’s visiting and we haven’t seen each other since Valentine’s day so we have a _lot_ of catching up to do…’  He lets the sentence hang as he takes another sip of bitter-sweet coffee.

Hunter’s eyes widen, and he cannot quite see Doug’s expression as he is to his left, but Sebastian’s expression does not waiver.

            ‘Bring him.’

            ‘Not really his thing.’

            ‘How’d you know?’

            ‘I just know.’

            ‘Going anywhere nice?’

            ‘Bas – if I tell you you’ll devise some reason to swing by and spy on me.  Let me save you the trouble – no it’s not Kurt (Kurt’s not talking to me still), and no – I’m not going anywhere in town with him, so give up now.  OK?’ 

            ‘I was only going to suggest this lovely French place my parents took me to a week or so ago, Blaine.  No need to get so defensive.’

            ‘Sure, OK.  Thanks, but I think I’ll let my boyfriend choose.’

Hunter glances at Sebastian and then at Doug as silence descends on the group. 

            Doug breaks the silence.  ‘Well – that was…intense.’  Hunter snorts laughter and Blaine smiles slightly though his gaze is still firmly locked on Sebastian’s and remains there as Doug and Hunter descend into talk of next week’s big game.  They finish their coffees and stand to head back to Dalton for their afternoon classes, but both Blaine and Sebastian hang back letting Doug and Hunter walk ahead.

            ‘What’s this all about, Bas?’

            ‘I’m just concerned.’

            ‘That’s touching.’

Sebastian frowns.

            ‘Blaine – look, I _care_ OK?  I know I sometimes have a funny way of showing it but we’re friends right?’

Blaine nods his affirmation and Sebastian’s eyes soften a little.

            ‘I just… I saw what loosing Kurt did to you, and I saw what his rejection over Christmas did.  I’m worried about you – secrets and withdrawing are not healthy, Blaine.  And they are certainly not _you._   You don’t have to _hide_ things from me.  I thought we were past the whole mistrust thing.  You were the only reason I’m still a Warbler after the slushie incident and the whole thing with that Karofski guy…  I know we got off on the wrong foot, and things have been strained in the past but I thought we were past that –‘

            ‘We are.’

            ‘Then why are you hiding this from me?  You’re carrying this huge weight, Blaine – you’re Captain of the Warblers and you’re top of all your classes and you’re always so perfectly put together – but I see how much it costs you.  Share some of it with me.  Let me in.  Let me be your friend.’

Sebastian’s hand brushes his own and he’s not certain when they stopped walking but there is something in Sebastian’s eyes that seems to be honestly searching for something from Blaine.  He feels overwhelmingly lost for a moment as the reality that he had been all words and superficial actions – playing at being friends but keeping everyone at a distance – hits him.  He feels short of breath and so tired.  He is so very tired of always being strong for everyone else and he has not really shared anything with anyone since Kurt.  This pressure has been building behind his eyes and he had not really noticed – but Sebastian had. 

He closes his eyes, unable to maintain contact with Sebastian for a moment.  He needs to think.  The precipice is right there and he can feel the wind on his cheeks – he could take Sebastian’s hand, after everything, and prove to everyone that he truly does trust him, does forgive him…or he can take the leap and continue alone.  He opens his eyes.

            ‘I do trust you, Bas.  Please don’t ever think that I don’t.’  The words are half-whispered, like a sigh, and he feels as if he may blow away at any moment.  Sebastian’s hand in his grounds him.  ‘Doug cannot know.   Hunter cannot know.’

Sebastian nods his consent.

            ‘I’ve been dating Douglas Chambers since February, but we kind of had a thing before – when I stayed with him between Christmas and New Year…’  The weight does not lift miraculously, it stays sitting firmly on his chest, and he holds his breath as he watches his friend’s face for any sign of shock or disgust.  Sebastian’s eyebrows raise a little but he maintains his physical tether to Blaine.

            ‘I figured.’

The anti-climax is like laughing gas to Blaine.

            ‘What?’  Sebastian seems more disturbed by Blaine’s reaction than by Blaine’s confession and for some reason it makes Blaine laugh harder.  Tears stream down his face and his breath comes in hiccups so loud both Hunter and Doug turn to look back but Sebastian waves them onwards.  ‘Don’t make me slap you.’

Blaine takes a couple of deep breaths, and a couple of mini-explosions of recursive laughter later, he manages to calm himself down.

            ‘Sorry.’

            ‘Why do you always do that?’

            ‘Do what?’

            ‘Apologise for _everything_?’  Sebastian looks genuinely puzzled and it sobers Blaine.

            ‘I don’t know.  I guess…I feel responsible?’

            ‘You’re not you know.’

            ‘It doesn’t feel like I’m not.’

            ‘Tell me about it.’

            ‘I’m not sure I can put it in to words.  I just feel like I _should_.  Like everyone expects me to _be_.’

Sebastian pats him on the shoulder.

            ‘Come on – tell me about this man of yours.  I want _all_ the gossip, Blaine.  You’ve been holding out on me.’

            ‘Thanks, Bas.’

            ‘What for?’

            ‘Knowing me.’

            ‘Come on – quit changing the subject.  You’re banging Doug’s uncle.  An older man, Blaine.  I want details!’

            ‘It’s not like that…’

            ‘You’ve not….?’

            ‘No.’

            ‘Oh.’

            ‘Yeah.  It’s not that I don’t want to…or that he doesn’t want to – at least he seems like he does.  We just…he’s well respected, and…’

            ‘Wants you to keep quiet, yeah?’

            ‘No.  It’s not like that.  We want to be _sure_ before it gets really serious, you know?’

Sebastian frowns a little.

            ‘He must be an amazing pull, Blaine.  That’s all I’m going to say.’

Blaine gives his friend a gentle punch to his bicep and rolls his eyes.

            ‘He is...’

            ‘I knew it!’

Heat sweeps across Blaine’s cheeks and Sebastien laughs.

            ‘I won’t tell a soul.’

            ‘I know.’

            ‘I still want details.  And we need to get you a plan.’

            ‘A plan?’

            ‘Of seduction.  If he’s visiting you on the sly this weekend then he must be getting as horny as you are so it shouldn’t take much…’

            ‘Bas!  We’re taking it slow.’

            ‘Bloody hell.  I thought it was Hummel that would have been the prude in that bizarre relationship the two of you had.  He always seemed like the innocent one but I suspected he was this hugely controlling and kinky power-bottom beneath it all.  You did actually _do it_ right?  I mean you’re not a virgin _still_?’

Blaine rolls his eyes and frowns slightly.

            ‘Fine, fine.  Take it slow.  Slow can be sexy.  There’s no harm in winding him up – in making him want you.  Drive him crazy…’

            ‘I pity your future boyfriends you devious creature.’

            ‘Words wound, Blaine.’

            ‘Believe me I know.  Come on – Hunt and Doug probably think _you’re_ my secret lover now!’

            ‘In your dirty dreams, Killer!’

 

-+-

 

            Sebastian kept shooting Blaine looks throughout Friday and as the final lesson drew nearer the looks grew more and more suggestive.  Blaine rolled his eyes at his friend.  It had make him feel like a terrible person but he had been mildly surprised that Sebastian had kept his word and had held Blaine’s secret as if it were his own.  Blaine had finally succumbed and bought a new cell phone and the two had spent most evenings (until 10pm at least) casually chatting or texting.  It felt oddly freeing to have someone to talk to about _anything_ again.  Even if that someone did spend a disproportionate amount of time teasing Blaine, he knew that, deep down; it was just how Sebastian showed he cared.  At least, that’s what Blaine told himself.

            By the time Blaine pulled up at the airport he was a jittery mess of frayed nerves, shaking limbs and writhing guts.  He had not been able to bring himself to eat and had found himself keeping Doug at a distance after he had found himself casually staring a little too long into his friend’s eyes (so similar and simultaneously different to Douglas’) while his friends ate their lunch.  Fortunately, Doug had not called him out on it though he had received a lewd text message from Sebastian about it later.  

As it turned out, nothing beats physical kisses, and as he drove Douglas to the hotel where he would be staying, Blaine could not stop himself from smiling.  Somehow he managed to get to their destination using only one hand (the other was entangled in Douglas’) and his mind was definitely out of action as it had headed south the second Douglas’ lips had touched his own. 

            ‘I missed you, Blaine.’

            ‘I missed you.’  His voice was breathy but Douglas did not pass comment or tease him – Blaine realised he had been spending a little too much time with Sebastian.  Instead the older man had simply smiled and kissed him again erasing Blaine’s frown and thoughts with absolute and unconscious ease.

The lobby, elevator and corridors to Douglas’ rooms were a blur to Blaine, and for a fleeting moment, he felt concern that he had no real idea where he had parked his car so distracted were his thoughts.  His concern however, left as quickly as it had appeared when he found himself finally alone with Douglas.  Instead he allowed himself to ogle his boyfriend as he efficiently unpacked his weekend bag, though Blaine mentally kicked himself for not noting what Douglas had bought with him as it would have suggested to Blaine, at least in part, what the other man had planned for their mini-break.  It had been surprisingly easy for Blaine to get the weekend off (so to speak) – his parents actually seemed glad that their son was showing an interest in a social life again and so had not pushed him for any details.  So he was absolutely and unashamedly _Douglas’_ for the entire weekend - the thought sent a little shiver down his spine and made something low in his belly flip.  He felt his eyes drift over the curve of Douglas’ broad shoulders, down to his narrow hips and over his gorgeous ass.  Blaine’s breath quickened as Douglas bent to put the empty Globetrotter bag into the bottom of the wardrobe.  He quickly glanced away and realised that he should, perhaps, put his own things away before Douglas noticed he had been staring.  He felt his cheeks darken as he quickly gathered up his bag and opened it, hurriedly sorting shirts and trousers onto hangers, and jumpers, underthings, and bowties into drawers. 

The suite Douglas had booked them had one bedroom but two Queen-sized beds separated by a small dresser.  They had not discussed sleeping arrangements and the thought had not occurred to Blaine until they had entered the room.  The disappointment that lingered even now had surprised him with its sudden intensity, but he was soon distracted by the feeling of strong hands on his hips.  Blaine smiled as he felt Douglas turn him to face him.

            ‘What was that for?’

            ‘You have absolutely no idea what you do to me, do you?’

The darkness in Douglas’ eyes makes his gut do the little flip thing again and he finds himself licking his lips then catching his bottom lip with his teeth.  He swears he hears Douglas growl before he claims Blaine’s lips with his own, but he is not completely certain with their bodies pressed close and his legs trapped between Douglas’ and the bed. 

            ‘I’m sorry.’

Blaine manages to frown slightly at the sudden loss of Douglas’ lips as the other man rests his forehead in the junction between Blaine’s shoulder and neck.  He feels the hot puff of his boyfriend’s breath against his skin and it takes him a moment to recall that Douglas had spoken.

            ‘Why?’

He feels Douglas smile against him.

            ‘I don’t want to push you.’

            ‘You aren’t.’

He must have said the right thing because Douglas’ lips stop talking and start a deliciously slow meander along his neck and jawline.  Blaine manages to stop himself from practically rutting against Douglas’ leg by sheer force of will alone.  He tests the water by nimbly untucking Douglas’ shirt and dipping his fingers underneath to connect with skin in encouragement.  He must have done the right thing because it is as if the barrier between them suddenly drops and Douglas’ hands mimic Blaine’s finding their way to soft delicious skin.  He turns his head to catch Douglas’ lips with his own and teasingly sucks on the older man’s lower lip as he lets one hand dip lower, slipping cool fingers beneath elastic, cotton, wool and leather.  He feels Douglas press closer to him – his warmth is solid reassurance and Blaine takes it as permission to slide his other hand between them so that he can tug lightly at Douglas’ shirt and work one-handed on unbuttoning it.  One of Douglas’ hands numbly unties Blaine’s school tie as the other makes short work from the bottom up of his shirt buttons.  Knuckles brush his abdomen as they work and Blaine moans softly at the contact.  Something about the way Douglas deliberately holds Blaine’s tie for a moment before finally pulling it free from his collar makes Blaine freeze for a moment, but it passes and leaves in its wake a desperation and Blaine makes short work of the rest of Douglas’ shirt.  He lets it drop to the floor and allows himself to briefly take in the vision of Douglas, topless, before him.  He makes Blaine’s mouth water – so dissimilar to everything Blaine had been so familiar with; all adult definition instead of youthful promise. 

Lightly tanned skin pulls taught over faintly defined muscle as Douglas breathes and Blaine finds himself dragging one hand from the other man’s sternum down through the dusting of coarse, dark hair, brushing an impossibly tiny pebbled nipple with his little finger as he works his way down.  He is on his knees before he is aware he had moved – he had been too engaged in the sensation of skin and hair and muscle.  He places his hands gently on Douglas’ hips – to steady himself and to keep Douglas from moving, and places a gentle, tentative kiss just below the other man’s belly button.  He feels more than hears Douglas’ slight gasp at the sensation, and allows himself to slowly trail light kisses down to the junction of wool, metal, leather and skin.  He feels Douglas tense as he continues downwards, his hands following the exquisite dip of hip and buttock before firm thigh, until he finds himself mouthing lightly at the pronounced hardness there.  He stops briefly, his nose and mouth mere centimetres away from Douglas and looks up – overcome with the sudden need for both reassurance and to reassure. 

There is a moment – it is fleeting and it simultaneously stabs him and freezes him – when he expects to see sweet blue eyes and not the meltingly dark chocolate pools that meet his own.  He almost falls backwards, away.  He almost bolts.  But Douglas’ eyes are so calming and so painfully earnest (and for some reason slightly scared) that Blaine finds himself smiling reassuringly as one hand gently traces the other man’s belt buckle.  Douglas seems so breathtakingly vulnerable in that moment that Blaine forgets to breathe and when he takes the hesitant blink as permission, his lungs ache from lack of air as he makes short work of the leather belt.  He slips a finger teasingly beneath the band of Douglas’ trousers, letting his finger pad brush the hidden hair and skin, and making Douglas gasp again.  His fingers are sure as they gently unhook and unbutton and unzip – lending Blaine a confidence that makes him feel like his performing.  He lets Douglas’ trousers fall and lets his hands run back up the other man’s calves and muscular thighs.  He fingers the hem of Douglas’ boxers where they meet his skin briefly, then slips his fingers between material and flesh, lightly tracing the line between muscled buttock and thigh.  He lets his fingers tease the crease between the other man’s cheeks before squeezing them and mouthing Douglas’ cock through the cotton. 

            ‘God, Blaine.’

The praise sends a thrill through him and he sucks lightly at the head as he dips the fingers of one hand down to ghost the sensitive area between hole and balls.

            ‘Please.’

The gasp-whine is exquisitely _new_ and Blaine yearns to map each inch of delicious salt-sweet skin, to learn which areas make Douglas moan and clench, and which reduce him to jelly.  He sucks and kisses and gently drags with his teeth, one hand squeezing a muscled globe, the other tantalisingly tracing lines between balls and hole, until a desperate, keening,

            ‘Please!’

and he finally rolls down the final barrier to all that delicious, unclaimed skin. 

He does not compare - it does not occur to him for the exercise would be pointless.  This is a different game entirely and Douglas is a different species – all _adult_ – thick muscle and hair not the limber softness of youth.  There is no promise of definition or suggestion of structure – Douglas is a masterpiece and utterly complete. 

Blaine closes his eyes as his hands map unchartered and unbound skin.  He trails kisses from hip bones down to the crease between groin and leg taking in the smell of Douglas where it is strongest and unimpeded by cologne.  He mouths at one tight ball as he squeezes his hands against the toned flesh behind and is rewarded by a delicious groan.  He explores with his mouth and tongue until he can feel the sweat building as fiery skin meets the cool air of the room.  He feels the light tremble of Douglas’s knees and he feels a tentative hand grasp his shoulder for support.  Blaine teases with his teeth, dragging them up the thick veined shaft then rolls back Douglas’ foreskin gently with one hand – releasing the pressure that is building and echoed in Blaine.  Precum beads at the head as his hand pumps once, twice.  He licks his lips then laps at the slit before sliding his lips around the head, swirling with his tongue and dragging across the rim.  Douglas gasps and Blaine hums gently around the other man’s cock as he slides down to take more of him in.  He feels fingers grasp at the few curls that have broken free of the gel with his sweat and he swirls his tongue again as he makes his way back up to the head.  He pulls off with an obscene noise before taking the glistening head back into his mouth.  He tastes precum – salty and distinctly _Douglas_ , as he resumes tracing the corona with his tongue.  He trails a finger down between cheeks to perineum and feels Douglas tense then groan as the pad drags deliciously over a sensitive area.  Blaine hums again as he sinks back down around Douglas relaxing his throat as much as he can as Douglas’ fingers grip the back of his neck lightly.  He takes pity and lets a rhythm build until he feels Douglas’ buttocks clench and his perineum spasm.  Douglas is silent as he comes, taking Blaine a little by surprise.  There is more than he expected but he manages not to gag, swallowing around Douglas as he manages to continue to work him through his orgasm with his mouth, gently cleaning him off as much as he can before the other man gets too sensitive.  He does not realise he is trembling until Douglas’ strong arms are helping him up from the floor. 

It should be awkward - they were supposed to be taking things slowly – and it is for a moment.  Douglas kisses Blaine then – all unbridled passion and Blaine is dimly aware that Douglas must be able to taste himself.  Kurt had always insisted they drink water (and ideally brush their teeth _and_ gargle with mouthwash) before kissing after giving a blowjob; so that too takes Blaine by surprise.  As do the mumbled sentiments that Douglas murmurs between kisses.  Blaine is achingly hard – his trousers tight and uncomfortable after being compressed when kneeling, and it is almost painful when Douglas palms him through the layers of underwear and grey wool.  All trace of his earlier hesitation has gone and Blaine finds himself utterly grateful when large hands finally release him without teasing or ceremony.  Douglas kisses him, sure and steady and deliciously slowly from his lips, down the straining chords of his neck, past the dip of clavicle and over the sensitive bud of nipple.  Over each bump-dip of rib and muscle, to the suggestion of the V that will develop between hip and abdomen, glancing over the stubborn remainder of hairless puppy-fat beneath his belly button and down to the still-soft hair of his public region.  Strong hands grip his thighs and he finds himself hoisted onto the edge of the bed, his trousers and underwear a tangled mess around his ankles – dimly he kicks his feet free as Douglas begins to kiss him.  The soft-wet-heat of Douglas’ mouth is glorious and Blaine feels his balls contract up.  His hole flutters as the delicious draw of the other man’s mouth quickly brings him to the brink and spectacularly over.  He comes hard – the product of youth, a long build-up, and a week of abstaining – panting and flopping backwards onto the firm mattress beneath him.  He is dimly aware of Douglas kissing him before he hears him get up and leave the room.  Blaine waits for his eyes to regain focus and stares at the ceiling as slowly the suddenness of the turn in their relationship strikes him. 

Douglas returns with a damp cloth and gently cleans him and Blaine feels somewhere between mortification and adoration at the tenderness of the gesture.  Wordlessly Douglas takes his hand and helps him up, leading him towards the shower.

 

-+-

 

            He has always paced while on the phone.  It is a habit that had driven his mother mad when he had been a boy as it had resulted in a tangled phone cord - she had been adamant that he had significantly reduced the life of the carpet in the hallway.  Now there are no cables he has full reign of his substantial apartment, but he still finds himself bound by the invisible ghost of the old cord. 

            ‘I’m sorry, Rog.  I just don’t have anyone else to talk to.’

            ‘That bad?’

Douglas groans and Roger huffs a little laugh which sounds like a small explosion in his ear – he can almost feel the warmth of his brother’s breath as the air from the speaker buffets his ear. 

            ‘Come on, big brother.  Talk to me.’

            ‘God, Rog, I… I think I’m in love – or almost there.’

            ‘That’s…that’s good.’

            ‘Is it?  This should feel wrong, Rog.  It’s so wrong.  He’s a teenager!  But there’s something about him – since the first moment I saw him.  God – I sound like one of those fools on the telly – but he makes me _feel_.  It’s not like with Paul, or Mark, or even like what I had with Adrian.  It’s deeper somehow.’

            ‘Have you talked to him about how you feel?’

            ‘No.  I…I don’t want to scare him off.’

            ‘You’ve really fallen hard for this kid haven’t you?  You have to be straight with him here.  You owe it to him to be honest.  If you’re going to have a relationship you need to be completely honest with each other because it’s going to be hell for you both.’ 

            ‘I know.  I…Part of me wants to protect him from that.’

            ‘That’s not up to you.’

            ‘I know.’

There is a muffled sigh and Douglas pictures his brother running a hand over his face.

            ‘Oh, Diggsie.  I knew one day you’d find the right guy for you – I just hoped it’d be sooner and that he’d be older...’

            ‘Don’t, Rog.’

            ‘Look, talk to him.  OK?  Just make sure he’s as invested in this as you are and let me handle Pops, alright?’

Douglas feels a little freer momentarily and takes a small breath.

            ‘Thank you.’  The words are never enough.

            ‘Don’t thank me yet.  Hell, Diggsie, I wish that things were easier.’

            ‘What?  Like I was straight?  It would be just as taboo if he were a teenage girl, Rog, and you know it.  Don’t make this about my sexuality – I can’t take that from you.  Not when I know what’s heading my way from the rest of the family.’

            ‘I didn’t mean _that_ and you know it.  I just meant – things are finally starting to turn around what with Prop 8 being overturned and Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell…  Things are looking up, Diggsie, but I wish… I just wish everyone was treated equal, you know?  I wish it wasn’t even a blip on the radar when it comes to history.  I think about all you’ve had to overcome to get where you are and… I’m terrified for you.  I don’t want to see you have to fight any more to be happy.  I don’t want to see you hurt.’

            ‘I told you you would have made a great politician.’

            ‘I love you too.’

He listens to his brother’s breath as it evens back out, pacing, unseeing around the hall and kitchen – a pre-defined track like a trench.

            ‘So.  Who’s taking to his parents and who’s telling Doug?’


	5. Spiral

### Spiral

            His feet are chained to a block of concrete and he is dragged down, down, down so fast his vision blurs.  His lungs are paralysed, unable to function and his eyes burn.  Santana is frantic, pacing backwards and forwards, one hand clutching the phone, the other gesticulating wildly.  His guts are churning ice and the roaring noise in his ears is deafening so Kurt does not hear a word she says, just watches blindly.  He does not know how long it takes, but eventually his lungs seemingly remember to function and the air stings, with it his body spasms into action.  He has one thought and the sharpness of it leaves him with no choice – he fumbles for his cell phone and dials before he has processed his own actions.

_No answer_

He does not allow himself the opportunity to overthink his actions – he is overcome with the need to _know_ that Blaine is safe.  He types frantically and sends the message,

**Are you OK? – K x**

all the while, staring intently at the screen, waiting.  He’s terrified to look away – as if that may be the difference between Blaine being alive or shot or wounded or alone or hurt or bleeding or…dead. 

It had been reflex.  That is what he tells Santana later, but the look she shoots him makes him feel utterly transparent and confuses him further.  Now though, he does not think, he just needs to know that _he_ is alright. 

**Heard about the shooting…  Please let me know you’re OK. – K x**

  _0 New Messages_ stares back at him, mocking.

Santana has to physically shake his shoulder to get his attention - he had not even noticed that she had ended the phone call with Brittany.

            ‘He doesn’t even go there anymore.  Anyways – Brit says it is over now.  Everyone’s fine.’  Her voice is hard but he catches the concern as she settles next to him on the sofa and switches on the television.

The relief that washes over him makes him feel giddy as he realises that Santana is right: Blaine is fine – he transferred back to Dalton and the shooting was at McKinley.  He realises dimly that his heart is pounding and his hands are shaking, and the knowledge is simultaneously terrifying and confusing.  His mind flickers back to when they had been snowed-in: Adam, Santana, Rachel and himself.  In theory it should have been exciting and perfect – spending time with his boyfriend and best friends watching one of his all-time favourites, “Moulin Rouge”.  The reality had been awkward (Santana and Rachel’s continuing argument about Rachel’s possibly-a-drug-dealer-boyfriend, Brody, non-withstanding) and he had found himself struggling to separate _Blaine_ from the film.  “Come What May” had moved him to tears and he had been beyond confused and frustrated because he was still so _angry_.  Blaine had ruined everything – they had been perfect, and now Kurt had Adam; but that was the problem – he was _trying_ to move on.  After Mr. Schuester’s wedding-that-wasn’t, Kurt and Adam had talked and decided to take it slowly, and agreed that they both wanted to take things to the next logical stage, but every time the opportunity arose Kurt found himself making excuses.  He could understand Adam’s growing frustration and confusion but Kurt just did not feel right.  Nothing felt _right -_ not anymore. 

The inane chatter on the television and Santana’s suggestive staring eventually got to him so he made his way to the relative privacy of his “room” knowing that Santana would force the truth out of him later anyway, he figured he should probably work out what that actually was.  His head was pounding and he found himself obsessively checking his phone as he busied himself, mindlessly rearranging his collection of jackets.  Reasons for _why_ Blaine was not responding to his text messages flooded his mind:

            _Blaine could be ill, or hurt, or unable to reply.  Or he’s ignoring the messages because he’s mad at me?  Maybe he just changed his number, or perhaps he is just really busy and missed the call and the messages.  He probably has no signal, or someone could have deleted the messages before he’s had a chance to read them.  He could be dead - No._

Kurt hung his head and carefully dropped his phone onto his bed to prevent himself from hurling it across the room, then flopped, facedown, beside it.  Adam was right, Kurt knew he was – Kurt needed to move on, he needed to get closure and to do that he needed to talk to Blaine.  Yes, Blaine had visited at Christmas, and yes, Kurt had not handled it well – but he had _just_ found out his father had cancer!  Over two months on and he knows now that his father, and Blaine, had only been acting in what they had believed to be Kurt’s interest, and the fact that Blaine had agreed to visit had been his way of trying to be Kurt’s _friend_.  He knew that now.  But it did not change anything – Kurt was still angry and hurt, but he was getting less and less sure who he was angry at anymore.  Truthfully, he missed Blaine – not talking to him was like having an organ removed that, yes - he could live without, but not having it left a void that he was unable to fill.  It had settled, an incessant _ache_ , and Kurt had _tried_ to fill the gap.  He had met Adam.  Adam who was handsome, and clever, and made Kurt laugh, but they were not _friends_.  Not like Blaine had been.

_No, not like Blaine._

Kurt sighed and rolled onto his back to stare up at the ceiling.  He chewed his bottom lip as he tried to sort through the mess of tangled thoughts – unravelling and untwisting the threads of _Blaine_ and _Adam_ and trying to look at the whole mess objectively.  He furrowed his brow then reached under his bed for the trunk he had thrown everything in on one of the worse days after Blaine’s admission.  It was supposed to have been cathartic; however, instead it was Kurt’s very own tell-tale heart. 

He stops himself before he opens the trunk – a moment of clarity and he no longer needs to reminisce – he knows what he has to do and _why_ he still has the trunk’s contents.

The urge to _talk_ to Blaine in person and not on the phone, is overwhelming.  Kurt rolls back onto his back and closes his eyes, and taking a calming breath, he sees golden irises in their perfect frame of long, sooty lashes.  Yes.  He will talk to Blaine and then he will know what he needs to do.  At least, he hopes he will. 

Kurt reaches for his laptop and checks the dates of his flight – he is due to be in Lima for a week to be there for his father’s oncologist appointment – perhaps it would be wise to bundle the pain together?  He runs the dates over in his head then does a quick Google search to find that they should coincide with Regionals, and the Warblers ( _Blaine_ ) would be competing. 

He resists the urge to check for new messages and instead focuses on reorganising his sock drawer – it is a little thing that he can control and he needs _something_.

-+-

            It changed things – of course it was going to – but he almost thought it would have been less significant – it is not like he has never given or received a blowjob before.  A part of him (far larger than he expected) feels guilty which is ridiculous (he _knows_ it is ridiculous) because he did nothing wrong.  In fact, he did _everything_ right, multiple times over, that long weekend in the hotel room.  It does not change the fact that Blaine could not relax fully after taking that first step.  It eats at him, intensifying as the days pass once Douglas’ presence reduces to nothing but memory and lingering scent.  He pretends it is nerves about the impending Regionals competition or stress over school work.  He almost convinces himself.

Douglas is due to visit the week a snow storm grinds New York to a halt – thankfully his flight departed before the first flakes fell and Blaine finds himself buzzing with anticipation as he waits by Arrivals.

They spend the weekend holed up in the suite again, but this time Douglas leads.  The other man’s hand is warm in his as they sit beside each other – Douglas had been oddly pensive during the drive and it had begun to make Blaine feel uneasy.

            ‘I need to talk to you about something.’  Douglas’ words are heavy and he catches Blaine’s eyes imploringly.

            ‘Oh.’  Something in Blaine’s gut twists and he tenses but does not look away.  Instead he turns to face his partner face-on and waits.  They have always been open with each other and Blaine focuses on taking calming breaths, trying to bottle down the rising panic in his throat, and to stop his thoughts spiralling downwards.

            ‘It’s nothing bad, Blaine, I promise.’  Douglas’ eyes are calm and their intertwined fingers ground Blaine.  ‘How…’  Douglas starts but then seems to think better of whatever he had been about to say and instead drops his eyes for a moment.

            ‘Hey, you can talk to me about anything – you know that.’  Blaine finds himself pulling Douglas in for a gentle, reassuring kiss, suddenly and utterly calm.  The other man’s soft _hum_ centres them both and when Blaine smiles, Douglas returns it.

            ‘I…  When I moved to New York I thought I would finally be free – it was very naïve of me to think so, I know, but back then…  Things are better now, of course they are, but some things…some people…they are the same.’  He pauses, his eyes meeting Blaine’s and seeming to search them for something before continuing.  ‘I need to know, Blaine.’

            ‘Know what?’

            ‘How you feel.’

            ‘Let me show you.’  Blaine kisses him again, but Douglas pulls back.

            ‘This is not a fairy tale – I’m no prince, and there is no happy ending.  Not for people like us.’

            ‘I don’t believe that.’

            ‘I know.’  Douglas smiles sadly.

            ‘What’s this all about?’

            ‘I’m going to China in a week, Blaine.  For a month.’

            ‘I know.’

            ‘And…and when I get back I have to present the progress to my father.’  Douglas takes a breath and Blaine wants to kiss away all of the stress and fear and anxiety that roll off Douglas like waves.  ‘I want…  I would like…’  The older man closes his eyes as if to help him gather his thoughts and Blaine waits patiently, oddly calm.  ‘Come with me?’ 

It is so quiet that Blaine almost misses it. 

            ‘As your friend or Doug’s?’

            ‘As my partner.’

 

-+-

 

            The Lima Bean is as busy as Kurt has ever seen it – he had dropped by McKinley to see his friends, though the truth is that Burt had kicked him out of the house.

_‘I’m jittery enough over this as it is without you hoverin’ over me like a mother hen.  Go out – go see your friends.  It’ll distract you – do you some good.’_

It had been so _odd_ to wander the halls – the same lockers, same teachers, same classrooms, yet different faces, different posters, different voices.  _His_ ghost walks with him, hand-in-hand, whispering

            _Courage_

when all others pretended to be blind. 

He had found Tina first and had somehow ended up sitting at _their_ usual table with Tina, Artie, Sam, and Brittany half-listening to their stories about _The Shooting_ while he re-arranges scattered sugar packets into perfect little lines.  None of them pushed him for more information on _why_ he was back so he had not felt the need to explain – that was one mercy at least.  He tries not to dwell on it and attempts to focus on Sam’s impassioned tale of how he tried to risk his life to save Brittany when he _feels_ him.  His head snaps up and there he is, pristine in Dalton blazer and tie – Blaine. 

The world stops.  Reduces right down to nothing but _him_.  For a moment he can convince himself that it is the beginning again – between Kurt’s leaving Dalton to return to McKinley, and Blaine’s transfer to be with him after the summer.  For a moment he is not alone, and he allows himself to feel that strong flutter of anticipation in his chest that he knows will be followed by the pure _joy_ that will flood his veins when Blaine’s dark eyes finally land on his own across the room.  But they do not. 

Kurt shakes his head slightly to clear it noticing that this Blaine is slightly taller and more defined.  This Blaine is with some guys Kurt does not recognise though they are all in Dalton uniform.  Then he sees Sebastian and his blood seethes. 

He must have pulled a face because Sam is rubbernecking and Kurt does not manage to pull his attention away from the group of lads before Sam spots them.  The blonde then does the unimaginable – he waves, and Kurt desperately wants the ground to swallow him.  This was not how it was supposed to be.  Yes, he wanted to talk to Blaine – he _needs_ to talk to Blaine, but seeing him – he is suddenly painfully aware that he knows nothing about this Blaine, and he needs time to process.  He needs time.

His heart races, but thankfully Sam gets up and walks over to the small group as they do not notice him, giving Kurt time to turn so that he is mostly hidden by Tina and Brittany, engaging both girls in discussion as quickly as he can by asking them how they felt during the shooting.  It is a low trick, but it works and it is not long before Sam re-joins them.  He yearns to ask Sam whether Blaine noticed him, and if he did, why he did not come over to say ‘hello’.  A small voice in the back of his mind mocks him for being so hypocritical, so he does not ask, and Sam does not offer any information.  Kurt resigns himself to sneaking peeks at the table the uniformed boys settle at. 

Blaine looks well – he smiles and laughs and is obviously friendly with the other three at his table, and Kurt feels a sudden pang.  He swallows painfully and forces himself to try to focus on his own friends at his own table, but he cannot get over the fact that Sebastian is there, sitting right next to Blaine.  A roar of laughter surges over from the other table and Kurt glowers.  Of course, it is then that Blaine’s golden eyes catch his own.

            _He always caught me._

_Until he let me fall._

He has seconds to decide what to do – whether to acknowledge him, or whether to force his attention back to his own table.  Naturally, Blaine removes the choice for him by standing and walking over – an action which Kurt simultaneously praises and curses him for.

            ‘Hi.’

His voice is polished honey and though his body language is open to the table, his eyes stay on Kurt’s.  Kurt feels his pulse in his mouth.

            ‘Blainey-Days!’

It is Tina that envelops Blaine in a fierce hug, effectively breaking the spell on Kurt.  Blaine’s smile is bright but Kurt notices that it does not reach his eyes – instead they land on the lines of sugar packets in front of Kurt and he raises an eyebrow in question.  Kurt shakes his head slightly and is grateful in that instant that Blaine seems to be able to still read him well enough to know when to drop something.

            ‘Ready for Regionals?’  Tina manages to seem almost genuine in her interest.

            ‘Of course they are!  I hear you’re Captain, Blaine?’  Artie says as he turns to give their visitor his attention.

Blaine is the epitome of gentlemanly charm, and fields Brittany’s left-field questions with ease whilst chatting to Artie, Tina and Sam about the Warblers’ upcoming competition and their post-graduation plans.  Kurt watches silently, listening.  He is half surprised that Sebastian does not come over to join Blaine, but given the circumstances of their last few encounters he surmises that it is probably for the best. 

            ‘So, I have to go – but don’t be strangers, OK?’  Blaine’s smile is tight and his eyes flicker to Kurt’s again as a scrape of chairs signal that his friends are making ready to leave.

Kurt can almost hear the questioning

            _Are you OK?_

in Blaine’s thoughts, so Kurt forces himself to smile, adding a cursory

            ‘Good luck.’

as the others give their own “break a leg”s and well-wishes.  Then Blaine is gone.

            Not long after, Kurt makes his excuses and leaves, overcome with the need to be somewhere peaceful to think.  He knows that the others will gossip but he cannot bring himself to care as he sits alone in his car staring blankly out of the windscreen.  His eyes sting and he palms them fiercely, putting his sudden wave of emotion down to his worry over his father’s results - and it is, at least in part.  Kurt huffs out an unsteady breath as he tries to calm himself down – it was not supposed to be like that.  Kurt had spent _days_ planning how his talk with Blaine would go and _this_ was not it.  His jaw aches where he had clenched it and he rubs at it angrily then forces himself to close his eyes and relax – emptying his mind.  It allows him the ability to analyse without emotion.  It allows him to distance himself; to throw his walls back up.  He knows, objectively, that they need to talk, and he feels that Blaine knows that too – from the looks he gave him at the café. 

 _Good_.

He received no reply to his previous text messages but he sends another one now.

**We need to talk.  After Regionals.  I’ll meet you after you win. – K**

Switching off his phone he starts the car’s engine and makes his way back to his father’s house – he is not sure when he stopped thinking of it as home.  He may not be able to control the results his father will receive tomorrow, but there is one thing he can – his over-due talk with Blaine.

He runs topics of discussion over in his head as he drives, continually reminding himself that they were both in the wrong – yes, Blaine cheated, but they never really talked about _why_ and Kurt _needs_ to know.  He needs to know how everything went so wrong.  He needs to know so that he can move on - so that he can get over Blaine.  The thing that terrifies him though, that nibbles away at him when he cannot sleep at night, the thing that was so easy to deny or ignore until he was confronted with the man himself, is that he is not sure he can get over him.  He’s not sure he wants to.

 

-+-

 

            They win.  Of course they win.  He had never doubted that they would.  Kurt paces near the backstage entrance, waiting.  He feels strangely calm after receiving the good news about his father’s remission – a weight has been lifted and he feels able to breathe again, to concentrate.  He had received no reply from Blaine to his message and the fact had concerned him – if Blaine wanted nothing to do with him he could have easily ignored him at the Lima Bean.  The previous evening Kurt had finally broken down and talked to his dad about everything – his fear of losing his father (his _world_ ), about losing Blaine (his _forever_ ), and about Adam. 

            _‘I was wonderin’ when you were going to talk to me.  You’ve been bottled up tight and it’s not healthy, but I know there’s no point in pushin’ – you talk when you’re ready.’_

They had talked for hours and Kurt had felt _lighter_ now than he had in months.  His dad had had just listened while he poured his heart out and when Kurt had finally finished, raw and exhausted, Burt had held him.

            _‘I just feel so lost, Dad.  Seeing him…it hurt.  Why does it still hurt?  When does it stop hurting?’_

_‘You still love him.’_

_‘I’m with Adam.’_

_‘Yeah, but you don’t love Adam.  I know you, Kurt.  When you love - you love with everything you got.  Look, I love you, Kurt, but I can’t tell you how to live your life.  Yes – Blaine messed up, but you never really talked about it.  Talk to him - see what he has to say.  It doesn’t mean you have to get back together – you probably shouldn’t rush back into anything anyway, but he was your friend first right?  Talk to him.’_

            The sound of the door opening dragged Kurt from his thoughts and he was greeted by a swarm of Dalton uniforms, some – Nick, Jeff and a couple of others he recognised – he congratulated as they passed and they exchanged a quick flurry of greetings.  The energy flowing from the group was infectious and Kurt found himself almost physically jittering as he scanned for familiar slicked dark hair. 

            ‘Have you seen Blaine?’ 

            ‘He should be out in a moment – I think he and Hunter went to put the trophy in the bus.’  Trent provided helpfully. 

Kurt thanked him and was about to offer his congratulations when someone led him firmly to the side by the elbow.

            ‘Why are you here?’

Green eyes bored into his own as Kurt prised Sebastian’s hand from his arm.

            ‘I’m not wholly sure how that’s your business, but I’m here to congratulate a friend.’

            ‘What if he doesn’t want your congratulations?’

            ‘Then he can tell me himself.’

            ‘Is everything OK?’  Trent’s concern was palpable and his eyes flitted nervously between the two men.

            ‘Fine, Trent.  Just catching up with Hummel here.’  Sebastian is all smiles and, though he does not look convinced, Trent retreats when Kurt affirms Sebastian’s statement with a small nod.

            ‘What’s your play here?’  Sebastian’s voice is low and Kurt cannot help but laugh.

            ‘Please do tell me what exactly this has to do with you.’

            ‘Don’t you think you’ve hurt him enough?’

            ‘Hurt him?!’

            ‘Get over yourself, Kurt.  You know it wasn’t all on him.’

            ‘And I suppose you’re the expert on my and Blaine’s relationship now?’

            ‘What relationship?’

            ‘We’re friends.’

            ‘Yeah.  Friends.  Good one.  Friends don’t abandon friends in a city they don’t know with nowhere to stay!’

            ‘I’m not defending myself to you.’

            ‘Look, he’s just starting to be himself again.  Leave it be.’

            ‘When did you become so concerned about Blaine?  You almost blinded him!’

            ‘I’m a better friend to him than you have ever been!’

            ‘Yeah, that’s all you ever wanted to be - his friend!  Pull the other one!’  

Sebastian clamps his jaw shut and Kurt can see the muscles twitch under the surface.  They are both panting and it dawns on him that everyone is watching them.  Sebastian takes a breath then catches Kurt’s eyes.

            ‘Please, Kurt, believe me when I say that I truly want what is best for Blaine.’

            ‘He is perfectly capable of deciding what that is.’

            ‘But he’s not.  Not when it comes to you.  When it comes to you, Kurt, he can’t think straight.  He’s been a mess - I am not exaggerating - ask any of them.  What do you want from him, and don’t say you want to be friends because you’ll never be “just friends”.’

Kurt feels unbalanced.

            ‘I…  I don’t know.  I just know I need to talk to him.’

            ‘Why?  What good will it do?’

            ‘I don’t know – but I need to.’

            ‘For you, right?  What about what Blaine needs?’  Sebastian drops his eyes slightly and sighs.  ‘Look - he’s finally moving on – he’s in a relationship and I think it’ll be really good for him.  Let him go, Kurt.  Let him be happy.  Move on.’

His eyes sting and he forces himself to look away but when he looks back Sebastian is gone.

            ‘He’s right you know.’  Trent’s voice is soft and so sympathetic that Kurt wants to bludgeon him in that instant. 

            ‘He was really that bad?’

            ‘He came back to us.’

            ‘And he’s happy now?’

The other boy does not get a chance to respond.

            ‘Kurt?’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so much for your continued support, kudos, and messages. When I started this fic I had no idea that it would be so well received. Thank you - as always, I write for you. <3


	6. Fade Out

### Fade Out

            To say Burt was confused was an understatement – it was times like this when he wanted nothing more than an ice-cold beer.  He huffed a sigh and, removing his baseball cap, ran his hands over his face and head, before replacing the cap.  All he had been able to get out of Kurt before his son had grabbed his bags and headed for the airport was that the tall youth could not stay in Lima and needed to get back home.  Home.  The word had sliced into Burt deeper than he thought possible – he knew one day that his baby boy would make his own home somewhere apart from him, hell, he had encouraged Kurt to do just that – but hearing it said out loud…  It hurt – he was not sure whether it was a good pain or bad pain.  Probably both.  He knew a lot about how pain could be both.

He’d tried to get some sense out of his son – something had obviously gone wrong again.  Something was causing Kurt pain, and Burt felt like a failure as a father.  He had felt so small and powerless – unable to protect his family – when first Lizzie died, then when he had a heart attack, then prostate cancer, and now…  Now Kurt was hurting again and there was nothing he could do.  Burt never wanted Kurt to feel like his family house was no longer home.  Burt never wanted to watch Kurt suffer.

A sharp knock at the door caught Burt unaware and he forced himself up to his feet.  He half-expected he knew who would be on the other side and, though he could not explain _why_ , he suddenly was furious.

            ‘He’s not here, Anderson.’

The young man, usually so put-together, looked out of breath – almost as if he had been running; hair dishevelled, blazer missing, shirt untucked, tie skewwhiff. 

            ‘I need to talk to him – do you know where he went?’

            ‘Home.’

The confusion on Blaine’s face was palpable and for a moment Burt felt sorry for the kid.

            ‘Look, Blaine, I don’t know what to tell you – he came in here, started packing, refused to talk then left.  What in the hell happened?’

            ‘I have no idea!  All I know is that he saw me and fled.  I chased after him as soon as I could.’

            ‘Well he’s gone.’  Burt took a step backwards and, leaving the door open, made his way back to the couch.  He felt rather than heard the younger man follow, closing the door behind him.

They sat for a while in silence – each taking in what the other had said, seemingly as confused as each other.

            ‘He didn’t talk to you then?’

            ‘No…um…I saw him the other day in the Lima Bean, but our friends were there and he didn’t seem like he wanted to talk then…  Then today he just saw me and bolted…’ 

The sentence hangs in the air and Burt shakes his head.  The steady whirr-chug-whirr of the washing machine increasing speed punctuates the air and both men seem at a loss, until Blaine seems to make up his mind and stands.

            ‘Where’re you goin’?’

            ‘To New York.’

            ‘Look, Blaine – sit down a minute?’

Burt waits until the dark haired youth complies then turns so he can watch Blaine’s reaction to what he feels, as a father, he needs to say.

            ‘Blaine…’  Burt takes a breath and smiles sadly.  ‘I think you both need to leave each other be for a while –‘

Blaine makes to interject but Burt puts up a hand.

            ‘Listen?  OK?  For a while back then – over Christmas – I felt really bad about that.  I couldn’t believe that my son, my sweet little boy, could act like that.  But I’ve had time to think and I see where he was comin’ from, and I know you do too.’  He pauses and catches Blaine’s eyes for a moment before continuing.  ‘I don’t know all the details, but I know that Kurt’s happy in New York – he’s got his Vogue job and his school, and Adam.’  Burt does not miss the tightening of Blaine’s mouth at his mention of Kurt’s boyfriend and feels for the young man.  ‘I know.’  He places a hand on Blaine’s shoulder.  ‘Last night emotions were running pretty high – I got my results and –‘  Burt notices Blaine’s sudden concern and smiles slightly, ‘Relax, kid.  I’m stronger than that – I’m in remission so quit your worrying.  What was I sayin’?’

            ‘About last night…’

            ‘Yeah.  So emotions were pretty high and it’s been a pretty emotional year so far.  Kurt; he said some stuff that’s made me think.  I know you love him, Blaine, and he loves you, but you’re both in relationships with other people now.  And I don’t think you, either of you, actually worked through what happened yet.  It’s not fair.  It’s not fair on either of you and it’s not fair on who you’re with now.’  Burt shakes his head slightly.  ‘You know – I really thought you two were it for each other – that day you came to see me in the garage and asked me to give Kurt _the talk_ …that was the day I knew, I think.  But things never work out like you think they will, and I gotta tell you, Blaine – I’m disappointed in you both.’

Blaine frowns slightly then, and Burt removes his hand from the lad’s shoulder. 

            ‘Now, I’m going to have to do the Dad thing – I don’t want to have to do this, but Blaine, it kills me to see my boy hurting like this.  I think…I think you need to let him come to you.  I know you, kid, you’re already planning on going to him and making some huge, dramatic scene…  Leave it be.  Trust me on this one.  Leave him be.’

Burt studies the face of the man across from him – Blaine looks so much better than he had over Christmas – stronger now somehow, and Burt sighs.

            ‘Are you happy, Blaine?’

            ‘I’m not sure how to answer that.’

            ‘I know, kid.  That’s what I mean though – you need to work out what makes you happy, then you need to do everything you can to keep it in your life.  Sometimes it’s taken away from us and there’s nothing we can do…’

Outside the rain falls as the men sit in silence, each lost in their own thoughts.  Eventually Blaine shifts.

            ‘Thank you.’

            ‘Take care of yourself, Anderson.’

            ‘You too, sir.’

Burt stares out of the window, hearing the youth leave but not watching.  Soon, Carole will be home and he will have to try to explain why Kurt left early, until then he sits and waits, loosing himself in replays where he can _do_ something to protect his son from pain and cruelty and confusion.  He knows it is futile, but in the end, it is all he really has.

 

-+-

 

            China is a paradox for him, but he is far too wrapped up in meetings and site visits and paperwork to have much time to actually take in the fact that this is the first time he has been away from American soil in over 15 years.  He feels rushed, overwhelmed, and a little culture shocked – everything is so similar and yet so alien to him.  The food is fascinating, and he is continually surprised by the mix of English and Chinese on shop signs and t-shirts and television.  In honesty he feels lost, and the fact that he is, usually, the tallest person as he walks through the city, does not help him feel at home, or help him blend in. 

Douglas’ solace was Blaine.  He knew it was not healthy to pin his sanity on another person, but that was how he felt because of all the things in his life, his relationship (for the first time) was the thing that made the most sense to him.  The time difference, however, made it a little difficult to actually maintain their daily call – when it was 6pm in Ohio on a Tuesday, for example, it was 6am on Wednesday for Douglas.  They managed calls on the weekends though, and it rapidly became the one thing Douglas looked forward to all week. 

            ‘We won.’

            ‘I knew you would – see, all that hard work was worth it, Blaine.  I’m proud of you.  So – Nationals next, yes?  Where are they this year?’

            ‘Los Angeles.’

            ‘Cooper lives in L.A., right?’

            ‘Yeah – he’s probably going to insist I say with him and delight in embarrassing me in front of the guys.’

            ‘What else are little brothers for?’

            ‘Don’t tell me the suave and gentlemanly Douglas Chambers could possibly have demeaned himself so to poor Roger?’  The teasing note in Blaine’s voice seems a little strained and Douglas makes a note to ask what is wrong.

            ‘Me?  Never!’

            ‘Yeah, yeah.  I’m going to have to ask Unc… Roger to tell me all about it when we see him.  I can’t believe it is only two weeks until you’re back.  It feels like it has been so much longer.  I miss you.’  Blaine’s little huff makes Douglas’ chest ache, but he is more concerned by the sudden change in tone from teasing to melancholy.

            ‘I miss you too, baby.  Blaine?’

            ‘Hm?’

            ‘You know you can talk to me about anything, right?’

            ‘Of course.’

            ‘I know something’s up.  Did something happen?  What’s wrong?’

            ‘I’m that transparent?  Coop would have a field day – he’s always telling me I wear my emotions on my sleeve – I can’t even act on the phone.’

            ‘He actually said “sleeve”?’

            ‘No.  He actually said I wear my emotions on my eyebrows – then I punched him in the ribs.’

            ‘Blaine!’  Douglas smiles at the younger man’s laughter, but he sees through Blaine’s attempt to distract him.  ‘So, what happened?’

            ‘I don’t really want to talk about it.’

            ‘Anything I can help with?’

            ‘No.  It’s just…  I guess…  Burt’s in remission.’

            ‘That’s a good thing, right?’

            ‘Yeah, but Kurt came to visit, and every time we bumped into each other we didn’t get a chance to talk, then when we did… he ran back to New York.’

            ‘I’m sorry, Blaine.’

            ‘I just…  He frustrates me, you know?  He’s the one that accused me of running away all the time and he’s doing the exact same thing!’  Blaine huffs his annoyance and Douglas’ skin itches to just hold the smaller man against him – to shield him from pain - to kiss him until he feels better.  ‘God, I miss you.’

            ‘You said he has someone now…’

            ‘Yeah – Adam.’

            ‘At least he has someone to talk to.  It sounds like he’s still confused about a lot of things – especially with what he’s been going through with his father’s cancer treatment…’

            ‘I know.  I just…  We were friends first, and I…’

            ‘You want to be there for him.’

            ‘It was my default for so long.’

            ‘I know.  I wish I could just wave a wand and make it all better for you, baby.’

            ‘You have a wand?’  The smile in Blaine’s voice is contagious.

            ‘You know what I meant.’ 

            ‘Sorry!  I just realised what the time was – you need to go to work!’

            ‘You come first to me.  You know that.’

            ‘Douglas!  This is your job!  This is you finally being recognised for your amazing talent and skill on a _global_ level – it is waaaaay more important than my childish nonsense!’

            ‘Don’t.’

            ‘Don’t what?’

            ‘Don’t put yourself down like that, ever.  Don’t minimise how important you are, OK?  You are far more important than another tour of another contractors’ office – you will _always_ be more important than work to me, Blaine.’

He hears Blaine’s breath hitch.

            ‘I really do miss you – I feel so lost right now.  I can’t even imagine what it must be like for you all the way over there with no friends.’

            ‘It’s not too bad.  It’s a little…odd.  It’s just different I suppose.  It would be better if you were here with me though.’

            ‘Next time?’

            ‘I’d love that.’

            ‘Deal – you listen to my petty worries and I’ll keep you company on your next business trip.’

            ‘Blaine.’  Douglas tries to instil warning into his voice but does not quite manage to succeed, as Blaine’s laughter demonstrates.

            ‘I know…I know…  No derogatory comments.  I’m sorry.  You should go…’

            ‘I know.’  He sighs a little, softly, and thinks he hears its echo over the miles.  ‘I really miss you, Blaine.  I can’t wait until we don’t have to be apart.’

            ‘Even when you’re back you’ll be in New York and I’ll still be in Ohio.’

            ‘What about when you graduate?  It’s not long now.’

            ‘Then I’ll be in New York too.’

            ‘I’d like you to move in with me…’  Blaine’s breathy gasp shocks Douglas and he struggles to reword his proposal.  ‘I mean…  Could you think about it?  Please?  When you move to the city in the summer, I’d like it to be with me.’

            ‘I’d like that, Douglas.’

            ‘Really?’

            ‘Yes.  Really.’

Douglas’ face hurts from grinning and he thinks he can hear a similar smile in Blaine’s husky answer.

            ‘I…uh…’  He finds he has to cough to clear his throat.  ‘I should…’

            ‘Go.’

            ‘Yes.’

            ‘I love you.’

            ‘I know.’

            ‘Good night, Blaine.’

            ‘Good morning, Douglas.’

 

-+-

 

            ‘Kurt, what’s wrong?’

Adam’s hand on his side feels like it is crushing him and Kurt feels like he cannot breathe.  He throws off the bedcovers and almost falls onto the floor in his hurry to be as far away as possible.  He is panting and shaking and 

            _It makes no sense!_

Kurt drops to a squat, his back to the wall, and fists his hands into his hair.  It had all been

            _Wrong wrong wrong_

since his return, weeks ago, to New York.  He had spent the entire plane journey convincing himself that he was going to let it go – to move on – because Sebastian was (he never thought he would say this) right.  Sebastian was right!  Blaine had clearly moved on, and he was stalling.  It was not fair on Adam or himself to keep pushing the Brit away.  Now Adam was in his bed, beautiful, kind, sexy Adam was _in his bed_.  He _wanted_ Kurt, and Kurt had, in that moment, wanted Adam, but with each kiss, each touch, each stilted, breathless moan his mind had betrayed him screaming

            _Wrong wrong wrong_

Now there was a confused and probably angry man in his bed and Kurt found the entire situation hilarious.  He could not breathe he was laughing (or crying?) so hard. 

He jumped when someone crouched down beside him and for a fleeting second he was in the hallway at McKinley after being elected Prom Queen expecting his dark knight to rescue him – to make it alright.  But the accent was wrong, the smell was wrong, the height was wrong.

            _Wrongwrongwrongwrongwrong_

            ‘Kurt?’

He opens his eyes slowly and looks, really looks at the man next to him.  He is tall, and lean, and his blue eyes are narrowed with concern; his brow furrowed.  Blonde hair juts haphazardly at angles from his head and Kurt knows that it is because of him – he did that – and it makes him feel nauseous and guilty and dirty.

            ‘I’m so sorry.’

            ‘Hey, hey.  No.  It’s OK, Kurt.  It’s OK.’  Adam goes to reassure Kurt with a touch but hesitates when Kurt’s eyes warn him to maintain his distance.  He sighs and drops fully to the floor, leaning his head back against the wall, and rolling his eyes towards Kurt.  ‘Just talk to me?’    

            ‘I can’t do this.’

            ‘I noticed.  Was it something I did?’

            ‘I…I don’t think so.’

            ‘It’s because I’m not him isn’t it?’

Kurt does not answer him and he hates himself more in that instance because he owes it to Adam – the blonde deserves more than this.  He deserves more than _him_.  He deserves to have someone who can love him back, who can give him his heart to cherish and receive Adam’s in return.  Kurt is not that person.  He’s not sure he could ever be that person again.

            ‘I thought we wanted this?’

            ‘I wanted to.’

            ‘So, what happens now?’

            ‘I really don’t know.’

            ‘Come on, Kurt, get up – let’s get some clothes on before we catch cold.  I’ll make us some tea and we can talk?’

He knows it is childish but he shakes his head and Adam laughs softly at Kurt’s petulance.

            ‘Could you just…leave?’

            ‘If you want me to.’

            ‘Please?’

Adam frowns and Kurt hides his face in his knees, curling his arms around himself protectively.

            ‘I really like you, Kurt.’

            ‘I like you too.’

            ‘I deserve better than this, you know?’

            ‘I’m not arguing with you.’

            ‘What’s going on, Kurt, really?  Because I thought…I think we’re good for each other, and you said that you were ready for this.’

            ‘I don’t know.  I wanted to be.’

Adam shakes his head.

            ‘You’re not over him, Kurt.  You’re not going to be unless you talk to him you know.  Pick up the phone and talk to him.’

            ‘He doesn’t answer when I call or text.’

            ‘Skype him then!  What happened to the Kurt Hummel I met?  Where’s he gone?  He wouldn’t keep making excuses all the time – if he wanted something he went out and got it!  He didn’t take no for an answer with NYADA!  He wouldn’t just give up now.’

He’s not sure what did it but he is suddenly furious – with Blaine, with Adam, with his father, with himself.  He feels as if he is a boiling ball of gas trapped in a container about to explode.  He takes a deep breath and tries to keep calm – Adam is right after all and Kurt is not exactly in the position to really say anything right now. 

            ‘You’re never going to get over him until you have the details.  All of them.  Even the ones you don’t want to hear.  I really care about you, Kurt, and I’m worried about you.  You need to do this – not for me but for yourself.’

            ‘You’re right.’

He pushes himself up from the floor and picks up his cell phone, scrolling through his contacts until he reaches Blaine’s home phone number, then dials.  He feels more than sees Adam pull some clothes on and head out into the kitchen area – his focus reduces to the inhuman ringing in his ears.  He almost stops breathing when he hears the _click_ of someone answering his call.

            ‘Hello?  Who’s speaking please?’

            ‘Uh… Hi, Mrs. Anderson.  It’s Kurt.  Kurt Hummel.  Is…is Blaine there?’

            ‘Sorry, Kurt, he’s not – he’s in New York at the moment.  Have you got his cell number?’

            ‘Yes.  Uh…I’ll try that.  Thank you.’

            ‘Any time, dear.  Bye.’

            ‘Bye, Mrs. Anderson.’

He scrolls back through his contact list – his sweaty fingers barely registering on the touch-screen.  He has to press the green call icon three times before it co-operates, his own breath echoing in his ear as he waits, waits, waits.

_No answer._

For a second he had allowed himself to think that Blaine in New York meant he was coming to visit Kurt.  Coming to talk to _him_.  He had imagined hearing Blaine’s little huff of surprise as he answered his phone, his hand poised about to knock on the loft door, his arms full of roses.  No, not roses.  Anything but roses. 

But he’s not in New York for Kurt.  Blaine’s with his _boyfriend_.  Blaine’s with his boyfriend in New York, just as Kurt is, but Blaine has moved on and Kurt cannot.

He laughs then.  Kurt is certain he looks terrifying – hair and eyes wild, naked body shaking.  He dimly hears someone rummaging in the kitchen and he is overcome with the need to be out of the loft.  He needs air.  He pulls on the clothes nearest to hand and breezes through the loft, ignoring Adam’s confused shouts.  He walks, blinded by tears and anger, until he runs out of energy then collapses against the nearest building.

Blaine is in New York.  Blaine is in New York without him.  Blaine is in New York with his boyfriend.  Blaine is in the same damn city! 

He dries his eyes roughly with his sleeves and has a sudden moment of clarity.  _Sebastian_.  He would know where Blaine was – of course, he would not _tell_ him where he was though.  The chances of Sebastian telling Kurt anything though was nil.  He had made his position completely clear after Regionals.  Kurt groaned in pained frustration. 

            _Focus.  You can fix this.  Adam’s right.  Kurt Hummel is not a quitter._

_Courage_

Kurt flicks through his phone contacts sending texts messages to anyone who may have information careless of how it may look.  Numbers he has not used since _before_ when he and Blaine were two Warblers.  It feels like a lifetime ago – filmed in sepia and stored safe in a bubble.

**Hi Trent, sorry about what happened at Regionals.  I’m trying to get hold of Blaine.  Any idea what his number is or whether he changed it – I can’t seem to get through to him.  I owe you one – Kurt**

**Hi Nick, sorry about what happened at Regionals.  I’m trying to get hold of Blaine.  Any idea what his number is or whether he changed it – I can’t seem to get through to him.  I owe you one – Kurt**

**Hi Jeff, sorry about what happened at Regionals.  I’m trying to get hold of Blaine.  Any idea what his number is or whether he changed it – I can’t seem to get through to him.  I owe you one – Kurt**

_Copy paste copy paste copy paste_

He does not expect replies so quickly.

**Kurt!  Hi!  Good to see you the other day too.  Blaine got a new phone – his got lost a couple of months back at a club when he saved Bas from a guy who tried to kill him with a bottle to the head.  The oafs tried to say Blaine attacked them first!  Bas’ dad got them to drop the charges though.  I’ll send his new number to you in a sec as a contact link.  Hope you’re OK.  Miss you.  Tx**

**Hey hey, stranger!  Didn’t get a chance to talk when you were back!  You should have hung with us – like old times!  B lost his phone a while back helping Sebastian out in a fight.  He’s got a white knight complex if you ask me – you know all about that though right?  ;)  His number is 570-6648.  See you soon?  Jeffster**

**Jeff says he sent you B’s number.  Hope things r OK?  If you find out nething about B’s b/f let us know!!1  He won’t share info!  Rude!  Nick**

He takes a breath before saving Blaine’s number to his phone, his pulse racing, and palms sweating, and vision shaking.  Blaine had been in a fight?  Blaine had saved Sebastian’s life?  His brain struggled to process the new information and he immediately felt terrible and nauseous.  He stared at the number until it felt burnt into his retinas.

 **Blaine, got your number from Warblers – didn’t know you’d changed it.  Could we talk? – K**     

Kurt hit send before he had really decided what he wanted to say then waited. 

It was Adam that found him and, wrapping a coat around his shoulders, walked him back to the loft after trying, and failing, to prise the phone from Kurt’s fingers.  The blonde kissed Kurt lightly on the cheek before settling Kurt into bed then quietly leaving.  Kurt knew they’d just broken up, but he could not bring himself to go after Adam.  He buried his head in the pillows, one eye on his phone, and waited.  Waited.  Waited.

 


	7. All In

### All In

            As the day of Douglas’ return had drawn closer, so too had the strange churning in the pit of his stomach that fought for dominance with the furious flutter and warm tingling spread he was growing accustomed to when he thought about spending time with Douglas.  He had met his boyfriend from the plane at Newark as a surprise and had been rewarded with the most beautiful smile he had ever seen.  Douglas had been travelling for over 17 hours, as was evident by lingering smell of recirculated air and the heavy scruff on his jaw. 

            ‘You should keep it – it makes you look rugged in a George Clooney kinda way.’

Douglas had laughed then as Blaine ran a hand over the dark hair flecked with grey peppering the older man’s jaw, before making a point of taking his suitcases as the younger directed the taller man to a waiting taxi.

They had only had one day of rest at Douglas’ before making their way up to the Chambers’ familial home in Southampton.  The house had been built by Douglas’ paternal great-grandparents in 1896 – the Clarks had been a steel family, and Douglas’ grandfather (Douglas Graeme Chambers, 1st) had married the only living child of the steel magnate in 1932 after immigrating to New York in early 1931.  The house, known in the family as ‘The Summer Place’

            (‘More like _Summer Palace_ ,’ Douglas had teased)

had been in the Chambers’ family ever since and was now the retirement home of Douglas’ parents, Douglas Graeme Chambers, 2nd, and his wife, Julia.

            ‘My family are _very_ imaginative when it comes to names for their eldest sons, as I’m sure you gathered.’

The lump in Blaine’s throat had seemed to grow exponentially in size the closer their taxi had gotten to the house, and Blaine had thought that he had been doing a good job of hiding his nerves, until Douglas had taken his hand in his own and given him a concerned look.

Blaine tries to breathe evenly but the truth is – he’s terrified.  Meeting the parents of one’s boyfriend is always a test thinly veiled as a nicety, but in this case Blaine knows the likelihood of a warm welcome is almost zero.  He takes the opportunity of the last fleeting moments of peace to watch the world pass by the window, one hand encased securely in Douglas’ own. 

It is impossible to mistake their arrival at the Village – impossibly neat hedges and walls are dwarfed by blindingly white panelled and redbrick houses in fields of manicured lawns.  Gravel grumbles under the wheels of their taxi as it follows the circular path that would have originally been designed for horse and carriage.  The looming Georgian façade of the house was only dwarfed by the acreage of gardens; the house alone could have easily swallowed Blaine’s family home twice over, if not thrice. 

Douglas squeezes Blaine’s hand once and Blaine realises dimly that he is not the only one who is anxious.  He glances in the direction of his boyfriend and shoots him a reassuring smile in an attempt to make up for being so utterly self-centred and selfish, simultaneously making a silent promise to be strong for both of them – this is going to be far tougher on Douglas than on himself.

The taxi pulls up in front of an impressive oversized door surrounded by a Grecian-style pediment; the door opens almost simultaneously and Blaine only just manages to hide his shock when a butler begins ordering a tall youth to take ‘Mr. Chambers’ and Guest’s’ bags up to the Blue Bedroom.  He shoots Douglas a reassuring look – their bags are going to the same room, so that is a good sign.  At least, he hopes it is.

They are led through the panelled entrance hall to the main hallway from which sweeping marble stairs lead to a half-gallery then split in to two, curving elegantly upwards to the first floor.  Blaine counts six sets of dark mahogany double doors leading from the main hall as they are led through, past the stairs, to the left.

            ‘Please wait in the Garden Lobby while I fetch Mrs. Chambers.  Oliver will be back shortly with refreshments after your journey.’

The butler leaves them then and Blaine takes in the sight before him – parquet flooring in three colours sweeps through the room which boasts more doors suggesting further rooms.  Large French windows lead down to the gardens, and Blaine spies the suggestion of immaculate colour-coordinated flowerbeds.  The room itself is airy – white walls and tall Georgian sash-windows with deep casings and painted wooden shutters.  At waist-height there is a dado rail with white panelling below that runs around the room, but other than two large, white marble planters full of white lilies, an old mirror, the frame of which has also been painted white, and a number of tall-backed wooden chairs, there are no more decorations.  Blaine realises that Douglas has taken a seat so he ought to join him, but truthfully he is feeling far too overwhelmed to sit, even if they had not been travelling for two hours.  The heady scent of lilies battles with the scent of beeswax and overpowers his senses, leaving him feeling nauseous and light-headed – he wishes he could open a window.

Fortunately, their wait is not long, and the tall youth who had taken their bags (Oliver, Blaine presumes) returns with a pitcher of fresh lemonade, three glasses and a wooden folding table, which he erects without a word, then retreats leaving Blaine and Douglas with the refreshments.  Blaine shoots a look at Douglas who smiles slightly but shakes his head.

            ‘Mother will want to entertain, best leave her to it.’

Blaine nods slightly and turns to look out of the windows on what he can see of the garden.  From his estimation they are in the West wing of the house, and Blaine wonders idly just how much the property is worth.  He knew Douglas’ family were not exactly poor – Douglas has a residence on the Upper East Side - but _this_ is a little more than he was expecting.  In a way, he muses, he had not really thought about it before.  It was a little difficult to ignore when confronted with the reality.

His thoughts are interrupted by the entrance of a woman in her mid-seventies.  Julia Rose Chambers is breath-taking, even now – her white hair is piled into a loose bun, from which curls cascade softly, enhancing the effect of her eyes which twinkle like two pale emeralds.  She holds herself like a movie star from the 50s, but there is a hardness to the set of her lips that Blaine finds disturbing.  She hardly gives him a passing glance as she immediately focuses on Douglas.

            ‘You look terrible, dah-ling.’ 

            ‘Thank you, mother.’ 

Between any other family it may have been seen as a friendly exchange, but Blaine forces himself to suppress a shudder at how tight and guarded Douglas seems.  The older man had stood when his mother had entered the room, and now embraces her gently pressing his lips to her powdered cheek, before taking her hand and walking her to one of the chairs near the lemonade table.  Douglas takes the seat next to her, and Blaine takes the opportunity to take the seat next to Douglas.

            ‘You father will be back for dinner,’ Julia offers as she pours three glasses.  Douglas takes one and passes it to Blaine in what feels like a protective gesture and Blaine offers his thanks softly. 

            ‘No business at the table this evening please, no matter what he insists.  It’s not the place.’  Julia replaces the jug then takes the remaining glass and sipping delicately before returning it to the table.

            ‘Of course, mother.’  Douglas takes a sip, his eyes never leaving the elder Chambers.

            ‘Roger called to tell us how young Douglas and Roger Jr. are doing.  They are charming boys.’

            ‘Yes.  I spoke to Rog myself when I got back yesterday.’

            ‘He did not mention it.’

            ‘I suppose he didn’t.’ 

The silence sparks and Blaine suddenly finds his lemonade fascinating.  It drags out, punctuated by birdsong and soft breath. 

            ‘I hear you know Douglas, Roger’s eldest?’

The question catches Blaine a little off-guard, but he clears his throat and forces himself to raise his hazel eyes to meet the green pins examining him.

            ‘Yes.  My father and Roger’s are good friends.’

            ‘You go to school together I presume?’

            ‘Yes.  Dalton Academy.’

Julia nods.

            ‘Really, Douglas?  A child?’

            ‘Not now, mother.’

            ‘At least he’s well educated and good-looking, if a little on the short side; not like that last friend of yours you brought home.  The man had no manners!’

            ‘Mother.’  Douglas’ voice has an edge to it that Blaine had not dreamed existed, however, oblivious, Julia continued.

            ‘What was his name?  Adrian?’

            ‘That was over 15 years ago -’

            ‘At least Adrian was a grown man.  Really, Douglas, people are going to think you have a houseboy, like Liberace!’

Blaine’s eyebrows shot into his hairline.  Douglas’s hand clenched slightly.

            ‘Mother…’

            ‘No.  You listen here, my boy.  What you do in the privacy of your own home is your business, but you are a representative of this family and I will not have you parading this…child…around like your property -’

            ‘He is not a child.’

            ‘Your father is not going to like it.  He thought you’d grown out of this…behaviour.’

Douglas’ jaw clenched slightly.  Blaine hated seeing him like this – stressed, hurt and uncomfortable.  He took a breath fighting the instinct to keep quiet and make himself small.

            ‘Mrs. Chambers – if I may?’

The piercing emerald orbs snapped onto him, and for a fraction of a second he thought Douglas was going to interrupt him, but instead he remained focused on his mother, features unreadable.  Blaine cleared his throat.

            ‘Mrs. Chambers, I know I look young, and I am – I’m 19 years old, and I understand that you want what is best for your son.’

            ‘Do you have a son?’

            ‘No, but I do have a family – and they trust me.  They trust me to know what is right for me and to know what makes me happy, and though they don’t often completely understand me, they support me.  Douglas trusts me too and we support each other.  I know that you probably think that being gay is a sin, but the world is changing – people are becoming more accepting.  Things are not like they used to be, Mrs. Chambers, and if you think that I will sit idly by while you insult my boyfriend and I, you truly underestimate me.  It is up to you – you can either accept this, or we can leave.  I wouldn’t want you to feel uncomfortable in your own house.’

His hands are shaking slightly, and he is certain that he could not stand even if he wanted to.  The silence is worse than the slurs and accusation, but he can breathe because Douglas is smiling.  Douglas is _smiling_ at him.

            ‘What was your name again, Mr…?’

            ‘Anderson.  Blaine Devon Anderson.’

She hums to herself, before turning her attention back to Douglas who drops his smile and straightens under his mother’s glare.

            ‘You’ll be staying in the Blue Bedroom.  If you’ll excuse me – I’m feeling a little tired.’

Douglas immediately stands and offers his mother a hand to stand up.  Blaine forces himself to stand, knees still shaking and palms sweating, watching as his host makes her exit.

            ‘You continue to amaze me, Blaine.’  Douglas takes his hand and presses the knuckles to his lips.  His eyes are dark and hungry, and Blaine finds himself leaning into Douglas slightly.  ‘So brave.’  The taller man takes a breath and Blaine feels like he may faint.  ‘She’s either going to love you or despise you know - there’s no in between.’

            ‘Did she not despise the others?’

            ‘No.  She was remarkably indifferent.  She does not waste energy on people she does not deem worthy.’

            ‘Then I shall take it as a compliment.’  Douglas’ eyes twinkle with laughter at Blaine’s bravados.  ‘I’m sorry.’

Douglas frowns.

            ‘Whatever for?’

            ‘It was not my place to jump in like that.  She’s not my mother and I’m a guest in this house, and you don’t need protecting, I know, I just…  No one has any right to say things like that to you…  I –‘ 

Douglas’ lips against his swallow the rest of Blaine’s self-depreciating tirade.

            ‘How many times do I have to tell you not to put yourself down, Blaine?  You are the most wonderful man, and I am so lucky to have you.’

Blaine feels utterly boneless and is certain he would have dropped to the floor in an ungainly puddle, had Douglas not been supporting his weight.

            ‘Come on – let’s go upstairs.  She’ll expect us to change for dinner.’

Blaine nods numbly when Douglas takes Blaine’s hand and leads him back into the main hall then left, and up the stairs.  At the half-landing they take the left staircase, and follow it as it sweeps around passing ancient-looking oil paintings, some of which he recognises, and stern family portraits.  There is a small minstrels’ gallery to the right on the landing and Blaine catches a glimpse of a double-height ballroom below, which looks to take up most of the rear of the house and leads onto a large veranda, and on – to terraced lawns and beyond.  Douglas leads Blaine into a small corridor with two doors at opposite ends, then through the one to the right.

It is immediately evident why the room is known as the Blue Bedroom as the bed linen and upholstery are in complementary shades of baby blue, pale brown, and cream.  The room has a dual-aspect view of the gardens, and is lavishly (but tastefully) decorated.  All the furnishings are in the French style, and are dominated by an Empire-style bed with button-back headboard in dark cream, and ornately carved, gilded frame.  A matching chaise-lounge sits invitingly in front of the large sash-windows to the North, with a couple of matching gilded chairs scattered strategically around.  The bed itself is flanked by two cream bedside tables with delicate cabriole legs that match the colour of the headboard perfectly, and the pale carpets are garnished with beautiful Turkish rugs.  

            ‘I’m actually surprised we’re staying in the same room.’ 

            ‘I insisted.  It was one of the conditions of me actually coming here in person and not simply conducting business with father-dear through the company solicitor.’  Douglas smiles at Blaine.  ‘Are you alright?’

            ‘I will be.  Just – it’s a lot.’

            ‘I know.’

            ‘I can’t imagine growing up here.’

            ‘It wasn’t too bad; we were mainly confined to the attic.’  Douglas’ wry smile makes Blaine laugh and Blaine finds himself pulling Douglas in for a kiss.

            ‘Are _you_ OK?  I’m guessing your father’ll be worse than your mother was.’

            ‘I’m used to it, Blaine.’

            ‘I know.  But that doesn’t mean you should have to be.’

            ‘Are you sure you’re 19?  You didn’t steal the wisdom from some wizened old sensei?’

            ‘Absolutely positive.’  Blaine laughs.  ‘Come on – we should dress for dinner.  Your mother wants Liberace I’m sure we could find something suitably dazzling.’  He winks as he makes his way over to the large armoire, guessing (correctly) that their clothes would have been unpacked for them.

            ‘Oh, God, please no!  Shoot me first.’  Douglas’ laughter is addictive and Blaine winks lewdly at him.

            ‘What?  You don’t want to dress the part?  I’m sure I could find something that screams _houseboy_ …’

            ‘No to the sequins, but we’ll revisit that houseboy concept of yours at a later date.  Something tight and very, very revealing…’ 

Blaine winks as he pulls out their dinner jackets.  Blaine feels ridiculously overdressed, but Douglas looks the epitome of a gentleman which is distraction enough to forget how uncomfortable he feels.  He slides a hand around Douglas’ waist, revelling in the fact that he can, and kisses him gently.

            ‘Ready?’

            ‘I’ll never be ready, Blaine.’

            ‘I know.  But you’re not alone.’

            ‘They will probably ignore you throughout dinner.’

            ‘ _Houseboy_ – I remember.’

            ‘I’m sorry - for them.’

            ‘They’re your parents and they are not alone in their ignorance - it’s hardly your fault.  Look – this is your last real chance to make-up with them – I know you – you’d blame yourself if something happened to them and you were still estranged.  Your dad’s, what, in his late 70’s, right?’  Douglas nods.  ‘I know they hurt – but they’re just words.  Words no child should hear from their parent, but words nonetheless.  You know that better than I do.’

            ‘You’re channelling that sensei again…’

The kiss is sweet and short – both are anxious, but the little thrill that runs through Blaine reminds him suddenly of how young he is – the combination of teenage hormones and formalwear is seemingly volatile.  He pulls away slightly from Douglas and forces himself to concentrate.

            ‘If it gets unbearable we can always excuse ourselves, right?’

            ‘Of course.’

            ‘OK, so if that happens we only have to stick around for your business meeting tomorrow then we can go straight back to yours and spend the rest of our holiday together?’

            ‘Don’t tempt me, Blaine.’ 

Blaine winks and is rewarded by another of Douglas’ genuine smiles.

            ‘Come on, mischief.  Let’s do this before we are late and give mother something else to despise us for.’

            ‘Mischief?’  Blaine laughs.

            ‘You in formalwear does something to me – you know it does, so quit flirting and get your ass into that dinner jacket so we can go.’

Douglas picks up Blaine’s jacket and holds it out for him as Blaine slips into it.

            ‘Once more in to the breach, dear friends!’

            ‘Once more.’

 

-+-

 

            He can hear the rumble of raised voices – it reverberates through the walls and floor.  The air is thick with the overpowering scent of Mrs. Chambers’ perfume, lilies and polish, which only serves to amplify the feeling that lightening is about to strike him.  He tries to ignore it and is marginally successful, but every now and again he makes out a word and his heart rate surges.

Dinner had gone surprisingly well.  As Douglas had predicted – Mr. Chambers had all but ignored Blaine’s presence, however, Mrs. Chambers had been sure to engage him in their discussions.  Whether it was to be the perfect host or because she had decided to like him, he had no idea.  After they had finished their meal, Blaine had been led by Mrs. Chambers to the drawing room to play the piano for her, while Douglas and his father had disappeared to another part of the house (the billiard room, as he had later discovered), for a brandy and awkward pre-discussion about China.  Mrs. Chambers had seemed impressed by Blaine’s musical abilities to the extent that she had asked him to play again for her

            ‘While the men discuss business in the morning.’

He had ignored the implied insult – preferring to assume that it was because she liked his company rather than that she thought he was feminine or a child. 

He felt his phone vibrate in his pocket but dared not excuse himself from playing – not while such a heated discussion was in progress.  Instead, he tried to play something soothing in the vain hope that, perhaps, Douglas may feel less alone (if he could even hear it where he was; Blaine assumed they were in the library – the room across the Garden Lobby from the Drawing Room - or the study).  Either way, it made Blaine feel a little less powerless.

He jumped a little and stopped playing when he felt something nuzzle his thigh.

            ‘Rufus!  I’m so sorry – he’s so rude!  Rufus!’

Blaine looked down to see the head of a beautiful Irish setter in his lap – he had not been aware that the family had a dog.  He ruffled back of the animal’s neck gently with his hand.

            ‘No – it’s OK.  He just startled me.’

            ‘He’s my husband’s dog.’

            ‘He’s beautiful.’

            ‘Daftest animal we’ve had.  I’ll have Oliver take him outside.’ 

            ‘No – he’s fine, really.’  She shoots Mrs. Chambers what he hopes is a charming smile, and it seems to work because she makes no further move to have Rufus extricated.

            _You don’t like the tension either, do you, boy?_

Blaine runs his hand over the large dog’s russet fur, massaging behind the animal’s ears once more, before he resumes playing.

Rufus stays by his feet.

 

-+-

 

            Roger’s sudden arrival is almost unbearably awkward; Mrs. Chambers and her younger son disappear for what feels like an age before eventually, and just as suddenly, re-appearing with tea and tiny cakes.  Now, Roger sits beside his mother as Blaine plays, the staccato barks of the elder and younger Douglas punctuating the melody; off-beat and jarringly irregular.  Blaine had never felt so uncomfortable in his life – before, Roger had felt almost like family and they had chatted cordially, easy with each other.  Now, Roger barely made eye contact with him and Blaine’s heart felt heavier by the second.

            ‘Mother – do you mind if I have a chat with Blaine alone for a moment?’

            ‘Oh!  Of course not.  Please excuse me – I need to see to Rufus.  Come, boy!’

Blaine stops playing, and the dog gives Blaine what could only be said to be a sympathetic look, before heaving himself to his feet and padding out after his mistress.  The door closed with a firm _clunk_ and Blaine waited - he felt like he was a naughty schoolboy about to get a hiding from the headmaster.

            ‘Mother told me how you stood up to her yesterday –‘

            ‘Uncle Roger – I’m sorry I-‘ 

Roger holds his hand up to silence Blaine’s interruption and the younger man feels his jaw snap shut obediently.

            ‘I’m impressed.  Not surprised, mind.  Your father’s tenacious I expected no less from you.’

He gives Blaine a wry smile, but it does not meet his eyes.

            ‘I wish…  I…  Look, Douglas talks about you.  A lot.  When he first told me…  I’m not going to lie to you – I thought the worst.  I love my brother, and your father’s like a younger brother to me…’  He sighs and rubs his face with his hand before looking up.  Chocolate pools lock with clear hazel.  ‘You’re young, Blaine.’  Blaine frowns and Roger smiles sadly.  ‘You’re going to hear that a lot – better get used to it.  You are though – young, hell, you’re only a year older than my Doug.  I’ve known you since you were a kid…’

The walls almost shake with another blast of thunder.

            ‘He’s fighting for you.  He’s never fought before – when things got bad he gave up.  _Self-imposed exile_ I call it.  I’m only just getting my brother back and it’s thanks to you.’

            ‘I didn’t _do_ anything.’

            ‘You did.  You may not have meant too, but you did, Blaine.  I’m going to ask you a question, and I want you to think about your answer, OK?’

Blaine nods.

            ‘Do you love my brother?  I mean, really _love_.  Do you love him enough to stand by him – even if he loses everything?  Because that’s what’s happening here.  Father’s eighty next year, and he’s thinking about inheritance; our family’s an old one and the trust is set up so that the eldest son always inherits everything.  Everything.  The business, the houses, everything.  Now, I know Diggsie - he doesn’t give a rat’s ass for things like that, but my father… Diggsie’s never going to marry a governor’s daughter like I did – hell, he’s never going to marry a _woman_ and have kids.  In Father’s eyes – the line will die with my brother, and he’s been holding on to a ridiculous thread of hope that one day Diggise’ll wake up straight, and find a well-bred wife to pop out the fourth Douglas Graeme Chambers.  While Diggsie was in exile…it was easy to pretend.  But now he’s back and the business is doing better than it ever has, and he brings a _teenager_ – worse, a _boy_ , home to meet the ‘rents…’  Roger sighs and pauses for a moment to let Blaine absorb what he just told him.  ‘Father’s writing him out unless he marries a woman.  He was born in the 30s, my father – back then…  I’m not going to give you a history lesson, Blaine - you’re smart: you know more about gay rights than anyone – apart from maybe Doug…  I don’t agree with my father, but I do understand his refusal to accept change, Blaine.  But I need to ask you – what is my brother to you?  Because if the answer is not “everything” or “it” or whatever soppy, romantic cliché you can think of…you need to stop this now.  This is not a game.  This is not two teenagers playing at love.  This is adult, and scary, and real.  Do you understand?  I don’t expect you to answer me.  That’s between you and my brother, but I needed you to understand that there are consequences, Blaine.  There are always consequences.’

Roger takes one more look at Blaine before he stands.  Thunder roars.

            ‘I’m going to see what I can do now.  Just think about it.’

 

-+-

 

            The drive back to Douglas’ penthouse is almost completely silent – Douglas’ voice is hoarse from shouting, and there is an almost permanent crease between his eyebrows, but he looks stronger than Blaine had imagined.  He had not seen the younger Chambers again – instead he had dumbly waited by the piano in the Drawing Room, while he heard Douglas calmly ask Oliver to pack his and Blaine’s belongings, explaining to his mother that they would be cutting their visit short.  Blaine’s heart hammered as Roger’s words circled him: sharks in the violent storm of his mind. 

He knows he should have thought about things sooner – their relationship had progressed so quickly and had been so _good_ that he had refused to let himself analyse it.  He mentally kicks himself for every time Douglas had told Blaine that he loved him and Blaine had not returned the sentiment.  He berates himself for not being honest with himself and for not being honest with Douglas.  He feels dirty and pathetic. 

            _He deserves so much better._

The truth is – he does not really know.  He has no idea what to do with his life beyond going to college in New York in the fall, let alone where he will be in 5 years, 10 years, 20…or with _whom_.  Blaine tries to organise the basics – allowing himself to dissect his feelings.  He recalls how he feels when he sees Douglas, how he feels when they kiss, or when Douglas smiles at him.  He knows how he feels then… 

            _Why is it never easy?  I thought love was supposed to be easy._

_Is it?  Love?_

He thought what he had with Kurt was love.  He thinks, in a way, it probably was – young and inexperienced as it was.  Being with Douglas is so different to that and it is almost overwhelming. 

He draws in a shaky breath as they exit the cab and Douglas pays the driver.  The doorman, Markus today, helps with their bags and they travel up in the elevator in silence.  Blaine busies himself in the kitchen making coffee when Douglas disappears into his bedroom. 

When Douglas reappears he looks agitated – his hair is dishevelled, as if he has been running his hands through it.

            ‘I’m so sorry.’  Douglas’ voice is gruff.

            ‘What for?’  Blaine gestures to the fresh coffee cup but Douglas makes no move to retrieve it.

            ‘For everything.  I’m sorry for putting you through that.’

            ‘I’m not going to lie and tell you I enjoyed it but there was nowhere else I would rather have been.’

            ‘I’m still sorry.’

            ‘It’s not your fault.  I’m sorry you had to grow up with such a lack of acceptance and understanding.’

Douglas huffs slightly but Blaine cannot tell whether it is self-depreciating amusement or simply defeat.             

            ‘Can we talk?’  Blaine’s voice is a little hesitant but he feels strangely calm.

            ‘Of course.’ 

When Douglas makes no suggestion of intent to move from his present spot on the floor in the kitchen, Blaine passes him a cup of coffee, then takes his hand and leads him to the dining table.  They sit across from each other and Blaine reaches for, and grasps, Douglas’ hand in his own, running his thumb over the other man’s knuckles.

            ‘Roger talked to me while you were with your father.’  Douglas raises his eyebrows but his eyes remain fixed on their intertwined hands.  ‘And…I realised that I hadn’t been fair to you.’

            ‘What do you mean?’

            ‘I…I need you to know that…I’m not going anywhere, OK?  You’re not alone.’

Douglas’s eyes meet his across the table, and Blaine’s heart breaks a little at the love shining in them, certain that he does not deserve the man across from him.

            ‘He…Roger…he told me that your argu- discussion with your father was about me…’

            ‘Oh, darling.  It wasn’t - It was about me.’

            ‘I made it worse being there though, didn’t I?’ 

Douglas squeezes Blaine’s hand gently.

            ‘Let me explain something to you – I’m proud to be with you.  Never think that I’m not.  I never want you to feel like I’m trying to hide you to make life easier, Blaine.’

            ‘It would be easier though.  To keep it a secret…’

            ‘It wouldn’t though.  To hide our relationship – even to make life easier, would make me as bad as the people we want to hide from.  You’re too important to me.  I want everything for you, Blaine.’  He sighs and looks down at their hands again before looking back up and locking eyes with Blaine.  Douglas’ eyes are shining and Blaine’s heart skips a beat.         ‘I’ve had boyfriends and lovers and acquaintances before…you know that.  At first I was naïve, or in denial – I’d bring them home with me and introduce them as my boyfriends, but my mother would insist on calling them my “friends” and my father would stiffen and it…it made me feel sick.  Like I was broken.  A disappointment.  So, I stopped bringing them home, or, when I did, I’d call them my “friend”s and leave it be.’  Douglas takes a breath and pulls Blaine’s hand a little closer to his chest.  ‘I never fought for them.’ 

‘Why?’

‘When you get to my age, Blaine, you _know._   Before, there was always something missing.  It would be purely physical, or purely based on a mutual passion, a shared love of French theatre, or Italian cuisine, perhaps?  Maybe it was a stop-gap to ease the pain of loneliness…but it was never _this_.  It was never you.  You make me want to be a better man.  You make me want to fight again.  I’d given up.’  He drops his eyes to the table and Blaine squeezes Douglas’ hand in reassurance.  ‘That day I agreed to accompany Roger and Adeline to your parents’ party – they were tasked with finding me a wife, and I was going to give in.  I had it all planned out – it would have to be mutually beneficial and _of course_ I would tell her the truth from the start.  Companionship, that’s all I thought I could expect now.’  Their eyes meet again and Blaine’s heart stuttered.  ‘You blew me away.  You still do.  You give me strength I thought I had lost.  You make me smile, you make me laugh – you challenge me.  You move me, Blaine.’

Blaine’s heart stopped.


	8. Derail

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: Mentions of Finn's (cannon) death - no descriptions.

### Derail

            When his phone rings he does not look at the caller ID, he just answers, still drifting in the sleepy fog of his dream.

            ‘Blaine?’

            ‘No, kiddo.  Look, um… are you with someone right now?  You’re not alone, right?’

His father’s voice is tight and chases away instantly any remaining haze in Kurt’s mind.

            ‘Dad, are you OK?  It’s not the cancer again is it because you beat that, you beat it and it was gone –‘

            ‘It’s not me, Kurt.  It’s not me.  It’s…  God, it’s Finn.’

A rush of static fills his ears and he falls, falls, falls.

-+-

            It does not _strike him like lightning_ \- it’s not _a moment of clarity_ , or as if he is _remembering the moment from another time_ : it is no strange, twisted sense of déjà vu.  He does not _know_ that he is doing the right thing, he does not consider any further ahead than the now - that second – he just surges forward and, like waves, their lips collide. 

            ‘God, Blaine.’  Douglas’ moan is barely discernable above his own, and he finds he needs to close the gap – the table is an inconvenience. 

He stands, never letting go of Douglas’ hand, pulling the taller man to his feet as he does so.  Their bodies rock into each other’s and Blaine slides his spare arm around Douglas, grasping at his shirt until he can feel the sweet warmth of skin.

Douglas’ hands meet at Blaine’s back, encircling him, pressing their bodies together, as their lips claim, and their breath mingles - desperate staccato. 

_It’s not enough._

The knowledge is urgent, and Blaine is unable to stop his hips as they rock forwards.  He feels Douglas still and for a fraction of a second he is terrified that he had done something wrong.  His heart hammers against his ribs, but the arms around him do not pull away.

            ‘I need to know.’

His voice is painfully quiet and Blaine knows exactly what Douglas is asking him – Douglas has never pushed him, and Blaine had been grateful, but he knew that Douglas would eventually have to ask and Blaine understands why. 

He has two options:

  1. Lie
  2. Distract



Of course, there is a third option –

            _Tell the truth_

\- but he does not know what the truth is. 

Roger’s words prod the back of his mind incessantly and he tries not to let Douglas’ words tangle with memories and feelings from _before_. 

            _Blackbird singing in the dead of night…_

Truthfully, he is terrified – he does not have a clue what he is doing.  He does not have the experience to tame his thrashing thoughts enough to form coherent sentences; but when his eyes, faltering, find Douglas’

            _…take these broken wings and learn to fly._

he knows what he has to say.

            ‘I know I want _this_ …you.  I keep feeling like I’m just imagining things – like I dreamt you up – you’re handsome, and witty, and so brave, Douglas.’  He takes a breath.  His head is spinning.  ‘You’re so far out of my league that I’m terrified…I guess I’m just waiting….’  He lets Douglas’ eyes catch his own and searches desperately for understanding in them.  ‘I’m just waiting for you to wake up and realise you could do so much better than some kid from Ohio…’  Blaine drops his eyes to the floor.

Blaine’s breath stutters and he tries to keep himself together – he had no idea how much admitting his feelings would leave him feeling so shattered.  He teeters on the edge before he finds himself held.  Hesitantly, his eyes flick up. 

            ‘Oh darling, you really can’t see yourself, can you?’

Douglas’ kiss is gentle but his arms are firm around Blaine – just the right amount of support, and he finds himself melting against Douglas, his eyes sliding closed.  He opens his eyes as the older man gently cups his cheek.

            ‘Blaine, please believe me when I tell you that you are everything to me.’

            ‘I guess… I’m scared.  I’ve never been anyone’s _everything_ before.  Not really.  With Kurt we _said_ it, and I think we meant it - as much as anyone can mean anything at the time, you know?  But we were wrong - when it mattered…’  He takes a breath to gather his thoughts – nothing is coming out right, but he needs to explain it to Douglas.  He deserves that much.  ‘I mean – there’s Cooper for my parents – he was the first and I wasn’t exactly planned, so when I came along I wasn’t novel, and I guess… I… I always felt like _more_ was expected of me.  Like I need to compensate for that – to be _better_ , to be _independent_ and _strong_ – because _he_ was, so I should be.  Does that make sense?  But when I’m with you I don’t need to always know what I’m doing or be the leader.  I don’t have to always be the strong one.  You…you make me feel safe – like I don’t have to act all the time.  I can actually be _me_ with you.  You see me.  And for some reason, that I’m not sure I will ever truly understand – you still want me.’ 

He feels Douglas’ fingers trace circles against his back, and Blaine knows he should be nervous but he feels completely calm because Douglas’ expression in that moment is so full of love, understanding and respect that his next words feel natural and obvious.

            ‘I love you.’

The moment is interrupted by the angry buzzing of Blaine’s phone.  Douglas smiles slightly and kisses Blaine sweetly.

            ‘How about this for a plan – you get that,’ he gestures to Blaine’s pocket, ‘and I’ll get us some takeout?’  Douglas punctuates his suggestion with a kiss that leaves Blaine wanting more.

            ‘Just leave it – the voicemail can get it.’ 

            ‘You should take the call.  I’m not going anywhere, remember?’  Douglas smiles as he teases Blaine with another kiss.

            ‘See – you’re doing that thing again where you are perfect.  It’s not fair!  How’s a man to resist?’

Douglas laughs and kisses him again before leaving in the direction of his study to give Blaine some privacy for the call.  Frustrated and furious with the unwitting person on the end of the line, Blaine fishes his phone from the tight pocket of his pants and rolls his eyes when he sees the caller ID.

            ‘Hey, Killer – I’m not disturbing anything, am I?’

            ‘You know where I am and who I’m with, Bas.  What do you think?’

            ‘Down boy!  I can hear your smile from here – it is sickening.’

            ‘So, hurry up and tell me what’s up so I can stop making you feel ill with my happiness.’

            ‘About that…  Jeff tells me your ex was fishing for your cell number – I was kind of surprised you hadn’t already given it to him.  Just wanted to see whether he’d contacted you.’  Blaine rolls his eyes.

            ‘Bas, I appreciate the concern, but I’m a big boy now and if he wants to contact me that’s not really got much to do with you.’

            ‘But it does because he messes with your head and Nationals are around the corn-‘

            ‘You make it sound like I’m some delicate, emotional, clingy wreck!  Bas, I know you care – it’s really sweet actually, but I’m really, truly happy.  If he wants to talk – fine, but I’m done with his hot/cold approach and if he wants my friendship he’s going to have to ask for it because I’m done apologising.  Happy?’

            ‘OK.’

            ‘Thanks, Bas.’

            ‘What for?’

            ‘Being you.’

            ‘Yeah, well – don’t let word get out, OK?’

            ‘Night, Bas.’

            ‘Night, Blaine – now go get some hot, experienced tail!  Rawr!’

            ‘Get a boyfriend.’

            ‘Working on it.  Bye, Blaine.’

            ‘Bye, Bas.  See you tomorrow.’

His cheeks ache from smiling as he hangs up – his friend’s laughter ringing in his ears – until he spots the text message.  He dimly recalls his phone vibrating back in Southampton, but he had been swept up in the drama since then and had forgotten to check his phone since they had returned to New York.  Kurt must have contacted him.  What could Kurt have wanted?  How many missed texts and calls did he have because he had lost his old phone?

He is a little surprised how little the thought bothers him as he reads the message then on impulse, and in need of some form of closure, dials the once-familiar number.

            ‘Kurt?’

            ‘No – he’s finally sleeping.’

            ‘Hi, Rachel – are you alright?  You sound off-‘

            ‘Listen to me very, very carefully, Blaine Warbler – I have no idea what sick game you’re playing here but –‘

            ‘I’m going to stop you right there.  If Kurt is sleeping just let him know I called in response to his text message asking _me_ to talk.  I’m not interested in messing up his thing with Adam, if that’s your concern –‘

            ‘They broke up.’

            ‘I’m sorry to hear that, but it had nothing to do with me.’

            ‘Oh.’

            ‘Look.  Just tell him I’m heading back to Lima tomorrow morning so if he wants to talk he has my number, alright?’

The brunette is silent on the end of the line and Blain briefly considers asking _why_ she felt the need to protect Kurt from _him_ , and what happened with Adam, but he feels like he’s imposing on their lives.  He has no right to ask Rachel anything - if he wants to know about Kurt, it is for Kurt to tell him.

            ‘Good night, Rachel.’

            ‘Blaine?’

Her voice is thin and tired and it sends a chill through him.

            ‘Hm?’

            ‘Why did everything go so wrong?’

            ‘What do you mean?’

            ‘This time a year ago we were happy, weren’t we?’

            ‘We grew up.’

            ‘I guess.’

A muffled sob echoes down the line and it is utterly raw.

            ‘What’s wrong, Rachel?’

            ‘Remember Brody?’

            ‘That guy you were with when we went to Callbacks?’

            ‘Yeah – he was an escort.’

            ‘I can actually kind of see that.’

            ‘Blaine!’

            ‘Sorry, sorry – that… that must have been horrible to find out.  What happened?’

            ‘Santana found a roll of cash and a pager – they thought he was a drugs dealer but he was a gigolo.  And Kurt knew.  He came into NYADA with a black eye and told me we were over.’

            ‘Wait, wait, wait – what?  Kurt had a black eye?’

            ‘No – Brody.’

            ‘Kurt hit Brody!?’

            ‘God, no!  Can you imagine!  No.  I don’t know what happened…’

Blaine waits to see if the petite girl will offer up any more information but as the silence stretches and the sobs start again he decides to prompt her.

            ‘What’s really wrong, Rachel?  I don’t think this is about Brody.’

            ‘It’s Finn…  He’s dead, Blaine.  Finn is dead!  And I feel like - it’s not real and that I’m just going to wake up but I’m scared that if I sleep and wake up again it will still be true.  He’s dead.’ 

It is like a dam burst with the admission and Blaine cannot make anything further out over the muffled sobs and tears.

            ‘God, Rachel – I’m so sorry!  When?  I had no idea!’

His heart is hammering so hard it physically hurts – he feels light, almost like he is floating.  The world has taken on a surreal quality and his eyes feel wet, but the brunette’s gut wrenching cries continue and Blaine feels utterly powerless.

            ‘Do you want me to come over, Rachel?’  He offers the first thing that comes to mind and immediately berates himself.

            ‘Can you bring him back to me?’

            ‘No…’

            ‘Then how could you help?’

            ‘I’m sorry – I’m here, OK.  I’m in New York until 10am tomorrow morning.’

Breathy sobs strike him in his chest and he feels winded, utterly at a loss for words.  He eventually hangs up when it becomes clear that Rachel’s too far gone to talk anymore.  His thoughts spiral as his mind catches up with the shock his body is reeling from, forcing himself to take a deep breath, then another.  The ache in his chest deepens as his mind flits from Burt and Carole to Kurt – they have already had to go through so much with Finn’s father’s death, Kurt’s mother’s passing, and Burt’s health scares… 

The hand at his lower back is grounding and he finds himself falling into Douglas’ arms.

            ‘Bad news?’

He nods – unable to trust his voice or his mind to be able to form a coherent explanation.  He feels Douglas gently run a soothing hand up and down his spine and feels soft lips press against his neck. 

            ‘Finn’s dead.’

            ‘Kurt’s brother?’

            ‘Yeah.’

            ‘What happened?’

            ‘I forgot to ask.’

            ‘Was that Kurt?’  Douglas indicates the cell phone still clutched in Blaine’s grip.

            ‘No – Rachel.’

            ‘They were close, right?’       

Blaine dips his head in response – he has no idea how to begin to explain Rachel and Finn’s relationship.  Douglas simply holds him until a soft buzz from the intercom alerts them to the arrival of their Thai takeaway.

            ‘I’ll put it in the fridge for later –‘

            ‘I’m actually starving.’

            ‘Come on.’  Douglas kisses him so sweetly.  Blaine allows himself to be lost in the sensation until Douglas guides him to the couch and leaves to collect their food.  They eat in silence sat cross-legged on the sofa, knees touching, and Blaine cannot help but be grateful again for Douglas.

 

-+-

 

            The weeks that follow go by so quickly, but in the wake of Finn’s death things seem different somehow – as if the little things just seem less important and things that were terrifying before are put frighteningly into perspective.

Blaine sends a card and flowers to the Hudson-Hummel residence but does not hear from Kurt.  He does not expect to – not really.

Things are never, can never, be the same after someone dies so young and it affects everyone their short life touched in different ways.  For Blaine it chases away the last of the darkness.

 

-+-

 

            He tells Doug first – he feels he owes his friend that much (and he figures that it is probably a miracle Roger has not said something already). 

            ‘Well, that explains a lot.’

Doug’s voice stays light even though Blaine can see the struggle of emotions writhing beneath the surface, and Blaine loves him for that.

            ‘I would have told you sooner, but I was scared –‘

            ‘You don’t have to explain yourself to me, Blaine, alright?  Let’s make one thing clear right now – I understand that much.  I’d have been scared too.  I even get that you told Bas – he’s the only one removed enough and open enough for you to talk to about it, and I’m so glad you had _someone_ to talk to.’

            ‘Doug, I –‘

            ‘Hang on.  I’m not done, OK?’  Blaine nods – he does not feel able to deny his friend anything in that moment.  ‘I’m hurt.  I’m not going to pretend I’m not.  But I’m glad you told me.  It’s huge for you – yes, he’s my uncle, but I don’t really _know_ him, and you do.  I guess that, so long as you never, ever make me call you “Uncle” I’m on your side.  Truly.’

            Hunter takes some convincing – but with both Sebastian and Doug supporting him, the other boy finally concedes that “so long as Blaine’s happy” he is happy for him. 

With the support of his closest friends, Blaine actually starts to allow himself to relax, and he finds that he _is_ truly happy.  Even the Warblers notice his renewed passion and energy and the group perform better than ever at their rehearsals for Nationals, but as the date draws nearer, so too does the fact that he will be spending time with Douglas _and_ Cooper.  Seeing Cooper means telling his older brother that he is in a serious, committed relationship with an older man who happens to be the brother of a family friend.  Hunter and Doug’s reactions had bolstered Blaine’s confidence, but he knows that _this is it_ – telling Cooper means telling his parents, and their unknown reactions truly terrify him.  So, he does not let himself think about it and pointedly does not talk about it with his friends or Douglas.  He distracts himself with ensuring their set-list for Nationals against The Amazonians and Throat-Explosion is _perfect_.

So, when he walks onto the stage in Los Angeles in immaculate Dalton Academy uniform, flanked by Sebastian and Hunter, he is serenely calm.  He spots his brother in the crowd – due to final rehearsal schedules he had been able to put-off meeting up with Cooper until that evening – he does not expect the hurricane strength gale in his stomach the sight stirs.  His brother looks so _proud_ of him that he suddenly cannot stand it – he drops his eyes and scans the crowd frantically, certain that if he did not latch on to calming chocolate pools in the next minute he would drown. 

Blaine feels Sebastian move to take his place next to him and it is then that he remembers how many people are depending on him in that instant.  He squares his shoulders and forces his mind to focus – he is Blaine Anderson, Captain of the Warblers, and he _will_ lead them to victory.

The music starts.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, I am overwhelmed by your feedback. Thank you, all of you. I just hope you continue to enjoy this as much as I do writing it.  
> Apologies for the delay in posting this chapter - one of my best friends was rushed in to hospital (ICU) recently so I've been a little distracted.


	9. Champion

### Champion

            At first it stung – not the acid paper-cut of a wasp sting, or even the sharp, swelling stab of a hornet’s - a scorpion’s buried deep - simmering - _burning_ within some cavernous abyss so dark and hidden within himself that he thought it would never fade. 

He had expected so much more from Blaine.  Yes, Finn had been Kurt’s brother, but Finn had been a New Direction, Finn had led them once Mr. Schue had left, Finn had been a friend, and Blaine had been _family_ too.  Almost as much as Finn had – perhaps in a different way, but still family.  He was supposed to be Kurt’s _friend_ – even on the basest level. 

Blaine had sent a card and a beautiful bouquet of white lilies for Carole – so he had _known_.  He had known and he had not even tried to _call_.  He had not gone to the funeral and Kurt was not even sure anymore whether he actually appreciated that.

When Kurt had discovered the reason Blaine had not been answering his text messages he had been a little comforted because that meant that Blaine had not been _ignoring_ him.  But then Blaine had not responded to the text Kurt had sent to his new number.  He had not even called!  He had been there for _Sebastian_ of all people – he had _saved his life_ – but he could not spend a minute to even text Kurt, after everything?  It was not like Kurt’s number had changed…  So, Kurt had been only marginally surprised that he had felt relief when he realised that Blaine would not be at the funeral.  Perhaps this was the final nail on the coffin – both metaphorically, and literally.  Perhaps this really was the “goodbye” they promised they would never say; this line drawn on the sand, etched in fire to glassy permanence.  Maybe now Kurt could finally move on.

The weeks since had passed in a strange haze – tiptoeing around Rachel, helping his family separate out Finn’s belongings into boxes (as if someone’s life could be condensed into “Keep”, “Give Away”, and “Donate” - as if it were that easy), helping each of his friends to grieve.  Santana had been hit a lot harder than she let on, and Kurt had felt so _helpless_.  But he had been there and he had noticed.  He had made sure of that. 

He had vowed to himself that he would never feel like _that_ again; not after his mother, not after standing by his father’s hospital bed, not after his father’s illnesses…  But he had. 

            _Is it unavoidable?  Does it always hurt this badly when they leave?  Does it ever stop?_

His OCD was getting worse – he knew it, deep-down – but everyone was so wrapped up in their own coping mechanisms no one noticed.  He found now that he _needed_ to colour-coordinate _everything_ , and that things that had never bothered him before – like the way the dishes were stacked in the cupboards, for example – now held a strange form of meaning.  Crooked lines, disorder, chaos – he could control these things, these tangible things – he could enforce straight lines, order…  He could create the antonym because these were things he _could_ control.  If he could control nothing else in his life, at least he could control this.

The worst part was the loneliness – he felt it clawing at him from the inside, from the deep, never-healing scar that Blaine had left him with, like an infection.  By helping his friends he felt a little like he was honouring Finn.  But none of them seemed to notice that he needed help too, so he threw himself even further into his work for Isabelle, at the Spotlight Diner, and his classes at NYADA.  He overcompensated in the loft – ensuring that the only films they watched together held no mention of love or relationships, because what good had ever come from love anyway?  They always leave you in the end.

 

-+-

 

            The celebratory high had lifted him up – _everything_ in his life had been utterly perfect for the first time.  He had three amazing friends who were completely supportive of him, a wonderful boyfriend, and success.  He was soaring so high he feared he might actually burst, so when Cooper blew the wind from his sails and pulled the ground away from under him in one sentence, Blaine fell harder than ever before.

            ‘You thought I’d be alright with this?  You thought I’d be happy that my little brother was shacking up with a man over twice his age?  You think our parents are going to be alright with this, Blaine?  What on Earth were you thinking?  They were barely alright with Kurt and at least you were born in the same decade!  He’s older than our _father_!  You can see how perverted this looks, right?’

            ‘He loves me for _me_.  He sees me for exactly who I am, Coop!’

            ‘And who is that, Blaine?  Who are you?’

            ‘I’m your brother!  Why can’t you see that I’m _happy_?  Why can’t you support me?’

            ‘Yeah.  Right.  Support your relationship with a man who _ran away from his own family_!  And what happened with Kurt then Blaine?  Wasn’t he the “great love” of your life?  You said he was your soul mate?  What happened there, huh?  You’re just a kid – you don’t know what you _feel_.’

            ‘I know _exactly_ how I feel!’

            ‘No you don’t.  We all had to put up with you moping over Kurt after _you cheated_ on him, and now we’re supposed to be _happy_ that you’ve decided to move in with a man you hardly know, who is ol-‘

            ‘This is not about _age_ , Cooper!’

            ‘Let me talk to him – I want to hear from him how he justifies having a sexual relationship with a teenager.’

            ‘So you can accuse him of being a pervert and corrupting me?  No.  I’m done, Cooper.  If you can’t support me – fine!’

            ‘If you were certain this was _right_ , Blaine, you would have told our parents months ago.  You would have told me.  You told me about Kurt from the day you met him.  You’ve been with this man for months and you tell your _family_ about him a couple of weeks before you move in with him!  Tell me that doesn’t look fucked up to you!’

            ‘I didn’t tell you because I wanted to be _sure_!  I _know_ how it looks to the outside world!  I’m not stupid!  I just thought you’d be happy for me.  I guess I was wrong.’

            ‘You don’t get it, Blaine.  I love you – you’re my little brother – I’ll always love you, but it’s my job to protect you.  It’s my job to stop you destroying your life.  You’re fucking some older man who’s going to provide for you like you’re his _mistress_.  Like some pet project.  Can’t you see what you’re giving up?  What about your dreams, huh?   Look, I get it.  I really do.  It’s comfortable.  You’re not going to want for anything else in your life.  I can see the appeal.  But you’re settling!  You’re settling for comfort and luxury.  You were going to be a star!  What changed?’

            ‘No – I was going to be a nobody.  You know, better than anyone, how hard it is to actually make a break!  I’ll tell you what changed – I grew up.  I can still sing.  I can still perform.  You know that.  This way I will have a career where I can actually make a difference to people’s lives.’

            ‘Whilst being bankrolled by your sugar daddy, right?’

            ‘I’m not putting up with this.  Bye, Cooper.’

            ‘I’m going to call them.’

            ‘What?  You’re _telling on me_!  How old are you, ten?!’

            ‘One day you’ll understand.’

            ‘What?  That you’re condescending?  This is _my_ life!’

            ‘And I’m saving it.’

            ‘You.  Are.  Ruining.  Everything!’

            ‘Blaine –‘

            ‘I’m done, Cooper.  You do this and I’ll never speak to you again.’

            ‘Blaine!’

 

-+-

 

            When he finally breaks he does not know whether it is from exhaustion or from Rachel’s admission.  Either way, he had no idea one throw-away comment could have such an effect on him.  They were sat together on the couch - Santana and Dani were out somewhere on a date (though they had not explicitly labelled it as such), and Kurt was absently going through songs on his iPod, writing down ones he thought would be perfect for their band, _Pamela Lansbury_ , whilst keeping one eye on Rachel who was pretending to watch a documentary on Bette Midler.  He clacked his tongue stud, now almost fully healed, against his teeth as he worked – the product of a drunken moment of insanity fuelled by grief and Rachel.  The brunette had convinced him to get a tattoo with her because she felt that they were in a rut and Kurt had agreed predominantly because he figured that Rachel wanting to do something a little wilder than sitting on the couch with ice-cream was progress.  Rachel had apparently chickened out though and so Kurt had been left with a misspelt tattoo and the mother of all hangovers.  He had managed to get the tattoo corrected from “It’s gets better” to “It’s got Bette Midler” and so the irony of Rachel’s television choice was not something that was lost on him, however, he had _not_ expected to come back with a piercing _as well_ \- but that was another story.  He clicked the stud against his teeth again just as he thought he heard Rachel say something.

            ‘Hm?’  He turned slightly to face his friend and cocked his head a little to the side pulling one headphone ear bud out to better hear.  

            ‘The Warblers won Nationals.’

            ‘Oh – uh, that’s great.  I’m glad for them.’  He frowns a little at the involuntary hissing he makes on the “ _s_ ” sounds and the slight lisp on the “ _th_ ”s – Rachel insists that no one can hear them, but he still can.  He thinks he will wait until Santana stops taking the piss before he believes he has successfully mastered talking with the stud in.

            ‘Yeah.  I saw their performance on YouTube.  They were really good.’

Kurt does not miss the unspoken “Blaine was really good”.  He frowns slightly – still frustrated that his thoughts automatically drift in that particularly painful direction and is about to replace his headphone when he catches –

            ‘He called.  I forgot to tell you.’

            ‘Who called?’  His heart hammers, but it should not.  He knows it should not.

            ‘Blaine.  Just after you fell asleep after your dad called about…  After your dad called.  You were asleep.’

            ‘Oh.’

            ‘Sorry.’

            ‘No – it’s… uh… fine.’

His head is swimming with information and he thinks he feels a little sick because if Blaine had called he had been wrong, so wrong.  He feels frozen and utterly lost – fractured to the core and terrified of the _what ifs_ dancing around his head like pink elephants. 

            _What if he does still care?  What if he thought I wanted space?  What if I was supposed to call him back but I didn’t get the message?  What if sending the card and the flowers was his way of letting me know he knew.  What if he was waiting for me to let him know it would be OK to come to the funeral!  What if it is my fault he couldn’t go to the funeral!  What if…_

Rachel is staring at him with a peculiar expression on her face and suddenly he cannot take it.  He needs to think - he needs to get out of the loft.  He needs some time to himself, some space, some air.

He pulls out the other ear bud and, abandoning his still playing iPod on the sofa, grabs his cell and heads out, not trusting his voice to say anything to Rachel because it is not her fault.  He does not want her to feel bad.

            _It’s not her fault_.    

It takes him an hour of tear-filled pacing to summon up the nerve to call.  He does not have a clue what he wants to say but he knows he needs the truth.  He needs the truth to breathe.  He needs his friend, his best friend to chase away the darkness with his smile, to warm him with his passion and enthusiasm.  He needs Blaine.

_Ring_

He needs Blaine to call him out when he is being judgemental.

_Ring_

He needs Blaine to make him laugh.

_Ring_

He needs to hear Blaine’s laugh.

_Ring_

He needs Blaine to distract him.

_Ring_

He needs his best friend.

‘Hello?’

The voice sounds tired and it is not Blaine – he must have dialled Blaine’s home number by mistake.

            ‘Mrs. Anderson.  Hi.  It’s Kurt.  I was wondering if I could talk to Blaine?’

            ‘He doesn’t live here.’

The dial tone reverberates around his head, drilling into his skull, and Kurt finds himself bent double vomiting on the sidewalk.  His hands are shaking uncontrollably and his vision blurs but he manages to dial Blaine’s mobile number successfully.

            ‘The person you have called is unavailable, please –‘

            _Please let him be alright._

            ‘The person you have called is unav –‘

            _Please let him be alright._

            ‘The person you have ca–‘

            _Please let him be alright._

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you, as always for your continued support. Every time my inbox lights up with a Review or kudos notification it gives me the confidence to keep writing.   
> Things are starting to unravel for our favourite boys!


	10. The Weight of a Promise

### The Weight of a Promise

            He wakes slowly, his eyes barely open they are so swollen, and for a blissful moment he has not been _disowned._  But the feeling is fleeting and his mind promptly kicks him with reality.  His parents disowned him.  The word is like a church bell – ominous, reverberating and utterly damning in its broadcast to the whole world that he is worthless, good for nothing, and a disgusting individual - even his own family want nothing to do with him.  His eyes feel hot, but no tears come – he has none left and they are useless in any case – tears did not even win him a pity vote in the end.  No, they cannot help him - not now. 

He can hear Douglas talking, his voice low, and the welcome distraction piques Blaine’s curiosity. 

            ‘No.  I’m not.’  A pause.  ‘Not great - as you could imagine.’  Silence.   ‘Well, I’ve spoken to the Head- …  No. …  Yes. … He was quite understanding. … Yes – I imagine family names go quite far still.  …  Graduation is next week, anyway.  …  Of course he will go.  …  I’m not going to force him to do anything.’

Blaine frowns and tries to avoid palming his sore eyes.  He realises dimly that he is in Douglas’ bedroom, lay fully clothed on top of the covers, a blanket draped over him – the last thing he recalls was, no – he does not need to think about that.  Not right now.  He does not have the strength to deal with what his new status means.  He has a lifetime to think about it now.

            _Another label._

He sits up a little and notices that Douglas must have left him a glass of water on the bedside table.  He stretches for it and the cool liquid soothes his raw throat.

            ‘God, no! …  I’m so worried about him, and I feel utterly useless.  I was so concerned about what everyone would think of _me_ I didn’t think- …  But it _is_ my fault!  You were right.  You were utterly right.  …  Damn it, Roger!  I don’t care!  …  I don’t care about reputation and I don’t care about the inheritance – not the property or the money, none of it!  I told Father that, and I’ll keep telling you that until you understand.  He is worth all of that and more to me, and I would have given _everything_ a hundred times over if I could have spared him the pain of _any_ of this.  …  God, Rog.  I feel so-  …  Thank you.  …  I know.   …  I’ll take whatever they want to throw at me.  I’ve been called far worse.  …  I know.  …  I just wish I could detach his name and your family’s from all of this mess.’

Blaine gingerly replaces the empty glass, his hand shaking visibly, as he debates whether he should let Douglas know that he is awake. 

Douglas, who had comforted him after Cooper had made it quite clear what he thought of Blaine’s life choices, then taken him out for a celebratory meal anyway - just the two of them. 

Douglas, who had received Blaine’s call at 3am the day after running Blaine to the airport for his flight back to Ohio, and had not hesitated in instructing Blaine to do as his parents’ asked and pack.  He had ordered Blaine a taxi (his parents had taken his car keys) and then instructed him to go to _their_ hotel.  Douglas must have gotten on the next available flight because the next thing he knew Douglas was with him at the hotel.  Blaine knew that Douglas had been to see his parents - no, not parents now.  How does one refer to their parents when they have been disowned? – because Douglas had some more of Blaine’s belongings with him when he arrived, but he had not spoken about it.  Instead he had just held Blaine, soothing him – not telling him that it would all be alright, because it was not, and could not be “alright”.  Douglas had whispered words to him:

‘You don’t get to choose your blood, darling, but you do get to choose your family.’

He had clung to that like a lifeline as he had ridden the waves of his torturous, tumultuous mind. 

Blaine took a breath, then another – the blanket smelt like lavender and clean cotton, and he tried to calm his racing pulse. 

            ‘No.  …  Tell Doug- …  Tell Doug that he’s here with me.  …  Yes – I’ll let him know.  …  Thank you.  …  You too.   …  Love to Adeline.  …  Bye.  …  Bye, Rog.’

He hears footsteps – Douglas has always paced whilst on the phone – but they do not stop outside the door.

            ‘Good afternoon, is Mr. Havers there?  …  It’s Douglas Chambers.  …  I’ll hold.’

Blaine racks his mind for who Mr. Havers may be, but the name is unfamiliar to him.  He strains his ears as Douglas walks further away from the bedroom from the Gallery, Blaine imagines, down the long corridor to the Kitchen and back.

            ‘-appointment.  …  Twelve o’clock, tomorrow?  …  Perfect.  …  Thank you – apologies for the short notice.  …  Yes.   …  I know, I know.  …  Yes.  Bring them, please.  …  To the guest apartment.  …  Yes.  …  Of course.  …  Thank you, Steve.  See you tomorrow.  Have a lovely evening.  …  You too.  Bye.’

Once he is certain Douglas has finished the call he makes his way on unsteady feet out into the Gallery.  Douglas is stood with his back to the doorway, facing down the corridor towards the kitchen and Blaine cannot help but notice the tightness in the other man’s shoulders.  Tightness that _he_ put there.  He feels terrible. 

            ‘I’m sorry.’

Douglas turns sharply at the sound of Blaine’s voice, harsh and hoarse from crying and shouting.

            ‘Oh, sweetheart – don’t apologise.’

His feet feel frozen but somehow he finds himself wrapped in Douglas’ warm, strong arms, his face tucked into the crease between the taller man’s shoulder and arm.

            ‘It doesn’t feel real.’

            ‘I know.’

            ‘I mess everything up.’

            ‘No, Blaine.  You don’t – please don’t talk like that.’

He swallows the sob rising quickly in his chest and feels it quench the burning coals in his gut.

            ‘Who was that – on the phone?’

            ‘Hm?  Oh – only Roger.  Doug wants me to tell you that he’ll happily beat up Cooper for you any time you want by the way.’

It angers him for some reason but he huffs out a breath in lieu of a laugh because he knows Douglas is watching for his response.

            ‘No – I meant after Roger.’

            ‘Oh.  That was an old friend of mine - Steve Havers.’

            ‘Sorry – I didn’t mean to eavesdrop.’

            ‘It’s fine, Blaine.  Really.’

Blaine closes his eyes and nods slightly.  The press of Douglas’ lips on his own opens his eyes and Blaine realises suddenly that he must look utterly awful.

            ‘I was going to tell you tomorrow but Steve is my attorney and I’ve asked him to drop by tomorrow with the deeds to the guest apartment.  I’m putting it in your name.  I want you to have somewhere that is completely yours – even if you don’t stay there, or use it.  Whatever happens between us, whatever the future brings – you will have somewhere to go.’

Blaine’s mouth must have dropped open of its own accord.  Douglas fishes around in his pocket for something and Blaine can hardly breathe.

            ‘No arguing – it’s already done.  Alright?’  He takes Blaine’s hand and drops a brass key into Blaine’s open palm then closes his fingers around it.  ‘This is the only key.  Well - Sylvia has one so she can clean, but I can get it from her if you like.’

He shakes his head dumbly, his eyes capturing Douglas’ searching ones, and Blaine cannot speak.  The key bites into the flesh of his palm and he realises he had been clenching his fist too tightly.  He has lost all capacity for fluid thought but he kisses Douglas – that is one thing he can do.  Douglas’ smile is warm, if a little uncertain, when he returns the kiss - deepening it before stepping back slightly and taking Blaine’s free hand.   

‘Now – I’m going to make us some coffee and we’re going to watch some trash on the telly.  How does that sound?’

 

-+-

 

            In his dreams he stumbles, blind, searching for _him_.  He calls out until his voice is hoarse, but his voice does not carry like it should.  Kurt runs, his limbs aching, his breath coming in stilted puffs that echo in the nothingness.  Before it was a multi-storey car park – overgrown, crumbling and stinking of piss.  This time it is the decrepit remains of a city he has never been to - full of blind alleyways, and dark, twisting corners.  The location changes, but the dream remains the same – he is searching for _him_ but he cannot find him.  Something bad has happened and he needs to get to _him_ before…  Before what?  He cannot remember because someone has his arm in a vice – trapped!  The panic chills him like a bucket of iced-water over the head in the heat of summer, and he hears himself scream. 

He awakes, drenched in sweat, to Santana shaking his shoulder.

            ‘Jesus, Hummel – if I have to wake you one more time because you are screaming out the hobbit’s name in your sleep again I am going to gag you.  I swear!  Now listen very, very carefully – I. Needs. My. Beauty. Sleep. or I cannot, and will not, be held accountable for what happens to you in yours.  Got it?’

His heart is pounding a fierce 3/4 rhythm on his ribcage and he struggles to adjust to his new surroundings.  Mumbling an apology he throws an arm over his eyes as his friend rolls her eyes at him and makes her way back to her own bed.   

Eventually his breathing evens out.

He reaches for his cell phone and finds it on the floor – he must have knocked it there in his sleep.  He had called everyone he could think of to try to find out what had happened between Blaine and his parents but everything he had heard had added to the white hot panic in his chest rather than settled it.

Trent had told him that Blaine had had a huge falling out with Cooper, but he had not been certain what it was about, only that Blaine had not been at the Warbler’s National Show Choir Champions celebratory meal.

He had learnt no more from Nick or Jeff, and had begrudgingly called Sebastian when he had run out of all other options.

What he had learnt had made him violently ill for the second time that evening, and the fact that Sebastian had told him at all had set every fibre of Kurt’s being on edge because the concern in the other man’s voice had ripped through Kurt like a hurricane.  The details were not clear but the message was - Blaine’s parents had disowned him.  Sebastian was terrified for his friend and was frantic because he, like Kurt, could not get hold of Blaine. 

Kurt had called Cooper – but the call had kept going through to voicemail, so, on the verge of a full-on panic attack, he had called the only other person he could think of - his father.

Burt had managed to calm Kurt down enough to make sense of his son and had rung-off, promising to get to the bottom of whatever was going on.  The following hours had been the longest of Kurt’s life and he had paced, numb, up and down the roads of Bushwick careless of the time or his own safety, until his phone had vibrated to signal an incoming call.

            ‘Hey, kiddo.’

            ‘Dad –‘

            ‘Look, I’m going to cut to the chase here - It’s true.  I went by the Andersons’ and –Kurt, I don’t know how to tell you this…’

            ‘Please – is he OK?’

            ‘I don’t know.  I have no idea where he is.  His parents don’t either, and honest to God, I don’t know what the kid could have done to make Bill act like that…  He was so cold.  Basically said he didn’t have a son called Blaine.’

Kurt took a breath, forcing himself to stay calm.

            ‘Thanks, Dad.’

            ‘I’ll keep an eye out – alright.  We’ll find him.  It’ll be OK, Kurt.  I promise.  Look, there’s nothing you can do from there – go get some rest.  I’ll call you if I hear anything.  He’ll be alright, Kurt.’

He had felt himself nod, even though he had known his father could not see him, and hung up slowly, breathing a heartfelt “thank you”.  If anything, he had felt worse.  His phone had vibrated again harshly in his hand, still pressed to his cheek, and he had answered it without checking.

            ‘Any news?’

            ‘Dad says it’s true, Sebastian.  His dad didn’t even acknowledge his existence.’

            ‘Fuck.’

            ‘ _You’re_ supposed to be his _best friend_ – you have to know where he would go.’

            ‘Uh… Well he’s not at Dalton – we checked everywhere, and Hunt and Doug have no clue.  Doug’s giving his uncle a call now to see whether he’s with him.’

            ‘Wait – why would Blaine be with Doug’s uncle?’ 

            ‘Shit.  Uh…’

            ‘Sebastian, I swear on all that is holy, if you don’t tell me what is going on right now I will-’

            ‘He’s Blaine’s boyfriend.’

            ‘Who is?’

            ‘Doug’s uncle.  The rich one who lives in New York.’

The news was heavy, but his adrenaline was pumping so fast the pressure won-out and Kurt managed to maintain focus without it crushing him. 

            ‘Get the number for me.’

            ‘Not sure that’s a great plan…’

            ‘Fine – but the _second_ you hear anything you call me.’

            ‘I promise.’

He had hung up and somehow made it back to the loft without incident, only to find himself staring at the ceiling until he found himself in the car park (until woken for the first time by Santana), then the city…  Now…

Frowning, he squints at his phone – searing-bright in the pitch of his room.

**6 new messages**

**Sebastian:** Blaine’s at his boyfriends’.  Panic over.  Damage control now.

 **Trent:** Any news? Tx

 **Jeff:** Nick wants to know if you’ve heard about B? – Jeffster

 **Sebastian:** Gave your number to Doug – he said he wanted to talk to you.  Hope that’s OK?

 **unknown number:** Hi, just wanted to let you know that Blaine’s with family.  It’s delicate so please leave it be for now.  I promise I’ll keep you updated.  Trust me – I love him like a brother.  Doug

 **Nick:** Did u get Jeff’s msg? Nick

Kurt frowned a little and re-read Doug’s message again before composing a choicely worded response, then deleting it, re-writing it, deleting it, and launching his phone across the room.  It hit the curtain with a soft _thup_ and clattered to the ground.

            “ _Blaine’s with family.”  The gall!  “It’s delicate” – no shit!  “I love him like a brother” – sure you do.  Which is why this all happened in the first place._

His forehead felt tight from frowning.  Why was Blaine’s friend acting so defensive?  It’s not like he _knew_ Kurt.  Perhaps Sebastian said something to him? 

The urge to scream raked his lungs, but he managed to purse his lips and let out a long soundless whistle instead.  His hands fisted themselves in his hair and he tugged lightly.

            _At least he’s alright.  Well, as alright as he can be.  Oh, Blaine – what have you done?_

 

-+-

 

            Blaine had waited until Steve had left and Douglas had gone to get some groceries.  His head was swimming with information but he felt determined – he knew exactly what he had to do.  He had known from the moment he had locked eyes with Steve.  Mr. Havers was a tall, handsome man with a fair complexion and steel eyes that had been so obviously trying not to _judge_ the small dark-haired nineteen year old that his friend had been set on signing over part of his property to.  He had had time to think the previous evening, curled against Douglas with the television’s mindless droning in the background.  Roger had been right, and Cooper, in his own way, had proven it - Blaine’s relationship with Douglas as it stood would ruin them both.  He could no more control people’s prejudices than he could the elements, but he had to try – there was one thing he _could_ control…

His hands were calm as he dialled the number he had weaselled from Doug, and he focused on keeping his breathing even, reminding himself _why_ he was calling – he could save Douglas from suffering the same fate as himself.  He could save Douglas from the _tuts_ and the rumours and the suspicion and the accusations –

            ‘Hello, who is calling, please?’

            ‘Oliver – it’s Blaine Anderson.  I’d like to talk to Mrs. Chambers, if she is available.’

            ‘Just a moment – please hold.’

He finds himself pacing in a strange mimicry of Douglas and the thought makes him smile a little until he hears a _click_ and the sudden sound of soft breath down the line.

            ‘Hello?’

            ‘Mrs. Chambers?  It’s Blaine Anderson.’

            ‘The pianist my son is set on destroying his life for - yes.  How can I help you?’

            ‘Actually – it’s about that…’

            ‘You have my attention.’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So that's the end of the second part! What is Blaine up to? What will Kurt do?   
> The next part, 'Revelation', will start shortly - until then please do tell me what you think so far!   
> Thank you, as always for being so supportive. <3


End file.
